Regarding Harry
by tsuj
Summary: Harry destroys the last Horcrux & defeats Voldemort, but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a 15 month old – gangly baby!Harry. Slightly h/d pre-slashy. Some abuse and violence, rated:M
1. The Forbidden Forest

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**Chapter 1: The Forbidden Forest**

Hermione was relatively certain that she was alive. Well, that was something, then – though, rather uncomfortable. She opened her eyes, blinked a few times to gain focus and slowly sat upright. The sun rising above the lake by where she sat afforded some light. Her head throbbed and her wand hand burned. No. That wasn't right. Her wand hand _was_ burned. The pads of her fingers and the tip of her thumb were covered in angry blisters. Worse, her wand was gone. A low moan to her left startled Hermione and she leapt to her feet turning toward the sound in time to see Ginny pushing herself up from the ground stiffly.

"'Mione? Where's-Harry?" Ginny grabbed onto Hermione's offered hand for support and looked around in a daze. She froze and her grip on Hermione tightened. Harry. He was there. Flat on his back, face covered in blood, and the bloody basilisk tooth held loosely in his hand. Hermione started towards him and had to shake Ginny loose to move. Ginny was rooted to her spot, holding her breath.

Hermione's mind was racing. _Harry, Harry! Please, don't be –_ "Harry?" She knelt beside him and gently touched his cheek. She could see the slow rise and fall of his chest under his grubby robes. "He's alive Ginny," she breathed out in a sigh.

Ginny started to sway and almost sank to her knees in relief. Instead, she shook her head and walked unsteadily to the pair. She knelt beside Harry and called to him several times. Harry did not respond to her and Ginny bit her quivering lower lip to steady herself.

"Ginny, we have to get him out of here," whispered Hermione. "Greyback or Bellatrix may –" but her voice caught in her throat and she couldn't finish her warning. She swallowed and asked dubiously, "Do you have your wand?" But Ginny's was gone, too, and Hermione _knew_ Harry's was gone. She'd seen it… Hermione shook her head. _NO_. She would dwell on none of that now. Now they had to help Harry. "Hagrid's hut is closest. Help me lift him." Together the two young witches hoisted Harry by his armpits and ankles. "Try not to jostle him," grunted Hermione under the weight. The journey was slow and silent as the two listened and looked for any danger signs coming from the edges of the wood. They heard nothing aside from the slight rustling of their own robes and later their labored breathing as Harry's weight began to take its toll. Hermione soon found her mind wandering, unbidden, to the events that had led them here.

The decision to leave Hogwarts and join Harry in his search for the remaining four Horcruxes had been an easy one. Even so, Hermione was surprised at how her education – which had been paramount in her life for as long as she could remember – seemed utterly meaningless.

She and Ron had accompanied Harry to the Dursleys' for a fortnight's stay – and a most unpleasant stay it had been. Harry's aunt had been furious at the prospect of Harry's two "freakish" houseguests. Petunia Dursley sent her husband and son to stay with her sister-in-law, Marge, for the duration, once it was established that Hermione and Ron were of age and therefore allowed to use magic outside of school. Petunia's anger at their inconvenient arrival battled for dominance with her fear of their "strangeness," as she called it. Still, she set down some very stringent rules about what they could and could not do and where in the house they could and could not go. Also, they were not to leave the house for any reason whatsoever, or they would not be allowed re-admittance. Petunia Dursley would not have her neighbors tongue-wagging about any peculiarities.

Hermione was (begrudgingly) given the guest room. She could tell by the way Mrs. Dursley watched her unpack her clothes and set them in a drawer that the woman was already planning a thorough cleaning – and perhaps disinfecting – of the room once the trio left. However, most of their time was spent in Dudley's half-abandoned second bedroom, where Harry was allowed to stay after he had received his Hogwarts acceptance letter reproachfully addressed to him at "The Cupboard Under The Stairs." There was a hodgepodge of broken and unwanted objects scattered against the walls, and though Hermione had wanted to use magic to clean it up a bit, Harry stayed her hand, saying he didn't want to do his aunt any favors.

They spent the days planning their trip to Godric's Hollow and researching the Dark Arts to develop defenses. Professor Slughorn had been most helpful in procuring some confiscated books discovered at last at Malfoy Manor (Slughorn's connections with Ministry of Magic officials had come in most handy), and these contained a wealth of heretofore little known information.

It seemed like a far off tale that had happened to someone else, mused Hermione: the stay at the Dursleys', Bill and Fleur's wedding, and Godric's Hollow (Harry had naturally been more withdrawn than ever at the place where his parents' murder had taken place). Then came the months-long journey following clues to find the hidden Horcruxes.

As it turned out, Sirius Black's brother, Regulus A. Black – a Death Eater who saw the light too late, had indeed already destroyed the Slytherin locket that had once belonged to Tom Riddle's mother. Helga Hufflepuff's cup was well hidden in the mountains near Durmstrang Academy. Harry had made Hermione and Ron stay back at the last leg of that journey. He had emerged from the cave, crawling on skinned elbows and knees, the blackened cup clenched in his hands. He was quite weak and they had taken him back to the small cabin they had procured in Godric's Hollow. Harry had unequivocally refused to go to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, or even to see the Nurse, Madame Pomfrey, at the Hogwart's hospital wing, for he didn't want anyone to get wind of what they were doing. Without the magic of professional healers, it took Harry five weeks to get his strength back. He absolutely would not talk about what had happened.

It was finding Nagini, Voldemort's familiar, which proved the most difficult. Dumbledore had confided in Harry his belief that Nagini was one of the six Horcruxes that Voldemort had created to secure his immortality. Harry's ability to speak Parseltongue proved both invaluable and frustrating in tracking down the giant reptile. Many snakes with which Harry communicated claimed to have no knowledge of Nagini. Information from others proved to be misleading falsehoods, sending the trio on arduous treks that were completely fruitless. But they were at the mercy of the snakes. They couldn't afford not to follow every lead, no matter how dubious.

Yet, they had at last found and killed Nagini. And spent months after, vainly searching for clues about the last Horcrux. Hermione, Ron and Harry were back at Godric's Hollow. It was an unusually gray day in July, when Ron had just received an Owl telling him he would be an uncle: Bill and Fleur were expecting twins. The letter contained the usual postscript on anything sent to them from the Weasleys: "Says she's fine, hopes he is, too." This was about Ginny, of course, but at Harry's insistence any such information was not to be related to him. Hermione knew that Harry hated hurting Ginny. The realization that he loved Ginny – and that she loved him – had been both elating and devastating to him. He was adamant that Ginny would not be a part of the Horcrux hunt. He wanted Ginny safely away from the danger they were descending into. Harry had made it clear that the only way for him to resist Ginny's pleas (and insistence) to join them was to cut off all communication.

Harry had spent most of the week that followed Nagini's destruction peering into memories from the Pensieve he had inherited from Dumbledore. One bleak morning, he emerged stiffly from his room with an inscrutable expression on his face. He told Ron and Hermione to sit down and they did so stiffly. Hermione's heart was filled with a dread that only deepened as Harry spoke. He would only say that he was ready to confront Voldemort, that he had located the last Horcrux, and that it would be destroyed along with the Dark Lord. Hermione and Ron were both decidedly unsatisfied with Harry's cryptic words but he refused to elaborate.

"You have to trust me, 'Mione, Ron," and his grim determination brooked no further discussion.

"It looks deserted." Ginny's words pulled Hermione out of her reverie. They had, at last, arrived at their destination. Wordlessly, they set Harry down carefully. The door wasn't locked. Ginny pushed it open slowly and looked around. "Empty," she breathed in relief and realized her heart was pounding in her throat. She swallowed hard and hurried to Hagrid's enormous bed, pulling down the worn patchwork quilt, before returning to help Hermione with Harry. He hadn't made a sound or even stirred thus far. With some difficulty, owing to the bed's height, they lifted Harry onto the mattress and pulled the quilt over him.

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A/N: no beta work yet. This is my first upload of a fic, so I've got a long 'get the hang of it' journey ahead of me. Bear with?


	2. Hagrid’s Hut

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**Chapter 2: Hagrid's Hut**

"I'll get some water from the well. See if you can find Hagrid's firewhiskey," Hermione told Ginny. When she returned a few minutes later lugging a full bucket, she saw that Ginny had laid out a dusty, half-filled bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, two huge bowls (everything in Hagrid's home was huge) and a stack of tea towels and serviettes beside the bed. She was staring at Harry, blinking back tears and biting her lip again. Hermione placed her hand on Ginny's shoulder. "It'll be okay, Ginny," but both knew these were empty words.

Hermione told Ginny to dust off the firewhiskey bottle as she set to cleaning Harry's wounds. She had taken a Muggle first aid course when preparing to be a lifeguard over the summer, but had never expected to need these skills in the Wizarding world. As she carefully wiped the blood from Harry's face Hermione could see the source was as she'd thought, and her mind wandered again to Voldemort's demise.

≤≥≤≥≤≥

It was Kreacher who – unknowingly – helped in the end. Harry had summoned the demented house-elf left to him by his godfather on the pretext that he needed some books retrieved from number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Then he pretended to lose his temper with Kreacher (which was not a stretch by any means) and 'let slip' that he was going to visit Dumbledore's tomb and that he was 'bloody tired of secrets' and 'didn't care who the crazy elf told.'

"I'm sick of having to watch what I say around you. You can go and tell a Pureblood for all I care!" was the last thing Harry yelled before sending the now deliriously happy elf away. Of course they felt certain Kreacher would take this information to the Malfoy's, and based on the events that followed, he'd done just that.

What they hadn't counted on was that he would tell anyone else. But as it turned out, Ginny had been staying at Grimmauld Place with her parents – now that school was out – and she heard Kreacher talking wildly to himself as he collected the books Harry had asked for. "Filthy little Blood-traitor," he sneered while otherwise acting as though she wasn't there. "The Noble House of Malfoy will put it to rights. Disgusting Half-blood master wants his books. Wants to cry over his mental mentor's grave. Kreacher knows he will have his own grave soon, so soon…" And without hesitation, Ginny grabbed her broom and sped off to Hogwarts.

The final battle was almost anticlimactic. There he was, the self-proclaimed 'Lord' Voldemort. Lucius Malfoy was beside him, aiming hexes and curses at the Gryffindors, and Wormtail, sniveling and cowardly as always. Bellatrix Lestrange and the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback had come as well. Ron had succeeded in hitting Lestrange with "_Expelliarmus_" and "_Stupefy_" and was giving chase to Greyback who had sprinted to the cover of the wood. Hermione yelled to Ron not to let the werewolf lure him away, but Ron – single-minded in his desire to catch the creature that had nearly killed his brother, Bill – was soon out of sight.

Then something unexpected happened: Wormtail hexed Lucius Malfoy as Malfoy aimed a curse at Harry. The man that was once Peter Pettigrew reluctantly looked to his lord to see if this traitorous act had been witnessed.

The Dark Lord made a show of appearing bored. "Life debt fulfilled, my dear Wormtail?" Even Wormtail could sense the futility of begging.

"Pity. It didn't help." Voldemort flicked his wand vaguely towards his servant, who screamed shrilly as his body slowly shriveled in on its self, until only a silver hand, landing with a thud and rolling across the forest floor, remained.

And all the while, Voldemort was effortlessly deflecting Harry, Ginny and Hermione's curses. Ginny's own "_Stupefy_" was reflected back on her and she fell, senseless.

Voldemort was taunting Harry. Hermione could tell by his pompous, condescending tone that the Dark Lord was unaware that Harry had found the last Horcrux.

"What are you going to do, young Harry? Your pathetic curses cannot kill me, but I can kill you now – just as I disposed of your worthless parentssss," his hiss was such as to make the last word a vile insult.

But Harry didn't rise to the bait. He remained eerily calm and refused to engage in Voldemort's head games. He simply aimed his wand, pulled the basilisk's tooth from his robes, and incanted "_Avada Kedavra_" as he jabbed the tooth viciously into the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

Voldemort's eyes widened in utter disbelief. "What? YOU canNo–" As the green light hit him, Voldemort fell back his face frozen in a gruesome mask of shock and rage. Then Harry fell to the ground, a ray of the same green light shooting out from his bloody scar. His wand glowed red hot and burst into flames sending shockwaves out in all directions. Hermione gasped in pain as her own wand began smoldering. That was the last she remembered.

≤≥≤≥≤≥

Time was of the essence, and Hermione knew she had to sterilize and wrap Harry's wound. She prayed that he would not feel it. They had no magic, no potions to help heal him or ease his pain (the few dust-covered vials in Hagrid's cupboard were unlabeled). She directed Ginny to hold Harry's head steady, and straddled his chest, not resting her weight on him, but pressing her thighs against his arms to hold him still. She took a deep breath and held it as she unstoppered the bottle of Ogden's and poured it liberally over the gaping wound that had once been Harry's infamous mark.

It was so much more horrible than Hermione had imagined. Harry's eyes flew open but were unseeing. He arched his back as his mouth opened wide in a strangled cry that was the worst sound Hermione had ever heard. At the last, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell limp. Hermione could tell Ginny was looking at her, seeking eye contact, reassurance, something. But Hermione could not meet her gaze. She took a few steadying breaths and reached for a tea towel. It was rather threadbare and ripped easily into strips. She took a second towel, folded, and pressed it firmly on the still-bleeding wound. She used the torn strips to secure this tightly to Harry's head.

"If it doesn't stop bleeding soon," she took another deep but shaky breath, "we'll have to cauterize it."

Ginny didn't like the sound of that word. It reminded her of when her father had let a Trainee healer at St. Mungo's actually _stitch_ his snakebite – an insane Muggle healing technique very like sewing. Naturally, it hadn't worked and her mother had been livid that her father had risked his life because of his faith in muggles. Ginny made to ask Hermione what "kotterize" was, but Hermione cut her off at "What –" with a raised hand and an almost imperceptible headshake.

"Now his hand," said Hermione, pressing her lips together. She filled a bowl with water and placed the other bowl under Harry's hand. Slowly, Hermione poured cool water over his blistered skin. His burns were in the same pattern as her own were (the pain of which she had been ignoring as best she could) leading her to believe that all the wands within reach of Harry's magic had been destroyed. As she wrapped his hand loosely with wetted tea towel strips Harry stirred, but mercifully he did not wake during these final ministrations. "Now your hand, Ginny," said Hermione.

"_My_ –? What?" Ginny held out her wand hand and saw that the pads of her fingers and her thumb were badly burned. She looked up at Hermione in surprise.

"Mine too," said Hermione, holding her own hand out to show Ginny the identical marks.

"What happened? I, I don't remember…" Now that she'd seen it, her hand was starting to smart. How could she not have noticed it?

"It was Harry. When he destroyed Voldemort, his wand burst into flames. I think it sent a spell outwards, because the last thing I remember was my wand burning up. I suppose yours burned too." She wondered just how far Harry's spell had gone. She hoped that Malfoy, Bellatrix and Fenrir had similarly been rendered incapable of magic. They might have a chance, then. _And Ron might…_ Hermione shook her head once again; she _would not_ think on that now.

After the two friends helped wash and wrap each other's hands, Hermione stood. "Why don't you get some rest, Ginny? I'll take the first watch and see what Hagrid's left us to eat around here."

Ginny was too tired to argue. Her head was swimming with unwanted thoughts and she was fighting to keep them at bay. Ron would join them. Harry would be okay. It had to be so, and that was that. She lay down carefully beside Harry's still form, trying her best not to move the mattress too much and disturb him. After gazing at him for a few minutes, her eyes welled up with unbidden tears and Ginny had to turn away to regain control of her emotions. Soon her shock and exhaustion got the better of her and Ginny drifted off to sleep.

Meanwhile, after a thorough search, Hermione had come up with precious little bounty: some moldy apples, a plate of rock cakes (which were living up to their name in full measure) and an old bowl of sugar cubes. She next went outside to refill the water bucket and check Hagrid's garden for useful herbs and hopefully something edible, her eyes desperately scanning the forest as she went.

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A/N: No beta yet. This is my first upload of a fic, so I've got a long 'get the hang of it' journey ahead of me. Bear with? I probably will in future be posting once a week.


	3. Harry

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**Chapter 3: Harry**

Harry stirred slightly. He blinked a few times and opened his eyes. He did not recognize were he was and he did not remember coming here. _Want…_ He spied a head of red hair to his left and reached out his bandaged hand to stroke it softly. "Mmm," he mumbled drowsily, and closed his eyes in sleep with a slight smile on his lips.

"What?" It was almost noon when Ginny woke with a start. Harry looked so peaceful beside her, but Ginny felt panicked rather than encouraged by this. She feared the worst and hesitantly leaned close to his face. He was still breathing. "Oh, Harry. Thank Merlin," she said aloud. At this, Harry's eyelids began to flutter. Surprised, Ginny sat upright. "Harry? Harry!"

"Mmm- Mummm…" Harry's eyes opened, and upon meeting Ginny's they widened in alarm and he leaned slightly away. The movement awakened a sharp pain in his head, and Harry grimaced, raising his bandaged hand to his forehead. The touch made him hurt more. He cried out, his expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief. It quickly changed back to fright.

_Not her._ "Mum-mum," he gasped. The redhead reached out a hand to Harry's cheek, but he recoiled further and looked around the room, his eyes darting wildly. _Where?_

"Harry. Harry, it's okay. It's me, Ginny."

At that moment, Hermione returned. She had the water bucket in one hand and the other held a few wilted-looking herbs. Harry turned hopefully to the sound of the door opening but, when Hermione walked through, his face fell and Hermione nearly dropped her things. Harry looked back and forth between Ginny and Hermione, his breath quickening in obvious panic.

"Hmm – M-Mum-Mum-ma – Mum-ma, Da-ee –" he repeated desperately between rapid breaths. _Where?_

Ginny looked to Hermione in dismay. "He –he's not making sense. He's…_afraid_ of me." Ginny's voice cracked.

At this, Harry closed his eyes tightly and started sobbing, his breaths growing steadily louder and more frantic. _ Want Mum-ma – now._

Then Hermione did drop what she was holding and rushed to the bed. "Harry. Harry, please, shhh. I know it hurts, but we have to keep quiet. There may still be Death Eaters out there." She moved to hold his good hand reassuringly, but at her touch, it jerked away reflexively up to his chin. Harry opened his eyes, looked down at his hand, leaned forward and…began to suck noisily on his thumb. Hermione took a step back, stunned. She and Ginny exchanged looks of worry and confusion as Harry gazed at them, calming some and blinking warily over his fist.

_Want her. Want her, want her, now._

Ginny put her hand to her mouth and shook her head. "W-What's wrong with him?"

Hermione hesitated. "He could be in shock, or…"

"Or what?"

"Ginny, Harry, he –he stabbed his scar pretty deeply with the basilisk's tooth. He might have – there might be brain damage," she finished softly.

"No," said Ginny, shaking her head in disbelief. "That…_can't_…be, please," she whispered desperately.

"Look at him, Ginny. He's like a ba-"

"Don't!" spat Ginny, holding up her hand. Harry started momentarily at the sudden shout. The two young witches remained in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being Harry's nasal breathing and sporadic sucking on his thumb. Then, Ginny crawled around Harry and climbed down from the giant bed. "I'll get him some water. He must be thirsty," she said, simply. She got a glass, dipped it in the bucket and carried it slowly to Harry so as not to startle him. "It's water, Harry. Are you thirsty?" She showed him the slightly dripping glass.

Harry only blinked in response. _Wa-wa._

"Come on, Harry. You should drink." Ginny held the glass close to Harry's face. He eyed it charily for a moment, let his thumb slide out and opened his mouth. He flinched when Ginny lifted his head, but he slurped the water in greedily, much of it dribbling down his chin. "That's right, Harry," soothed Ginny. "Drink. It'll help you feel better. You're going to be just fine."

When the glass was empty, Harry let the stranger dab his neck and chin dry with a corner of the patchwork quilt without protest. He stuck out his lower lip a bit and just watched her silently as she went to set the empty glass on the table. _Not her._

Hermione, meanwhile, had retrieved the herbs from the floor and had begun washing them in another of Hagrid's bowls. "There wasn't any food out there," her voice started out a bit shakily, as if she were afraid to set Ginny off again, but soon Hermione regained her composure and she continued. "But I found a few things that might help with Harry's pain – some feverfew and licorice – and some skullcap, valerian, and lemon balm to make a sleeping draught. I'm going to have to check his scar and…I'd rather he not be awake for that," she said grimly. "I'll make a fire in the smaller cauldron to brew the potions. We can't risk lighting the grate." She hoisted the iron cauldron onto the table and didn't share with Ginny her concerns as to how effective her potions might be, particularly as she would be making them wandlessly.

"What can I do to help?" Asked Ginny solemnly, not meeting Hermione's eyes.

"There's only rock cakes and sugar cubes to eat. See if you can do anything with that."

Ginny set to soaking the rock cakes in water in the hopes of making them palatable and absently popped a sugar cube in her mouth. _I bet Harry would love this. He has such a sweet tooth._ Grabbing another cube from Hagrid's well-worn sugar bowl she went back to Harry's side. "Here Harry. It's not much, but it's good." She held it up to show him and he surveyed the small object furtively. "Good, mmm," Ginny reassured him, and held the sweet to Harry's lips. After a bit, he parted them slightly to accept the cube.

He sucked on it once and paused a moment before resuming with a little mewling sound of contentment. "Mmm." He looked up at Ginny with a half smile. Tears sprang to Ginny's eyes and she blinked them back furiously as she returned the smile. When he had finished, Harry opened his mouth expectantly for another. He reminded Ginny of a baby bird and she quickly retrieved two more sugar cubes. Harry gave a little closed-mouth giggle as he enjoyed the second one, and before he was quite done with it, he said, "Moh," letting some sugary saliva slide out of the side of his mouth.

"Here you go, Harry. I want to see if the rock cakes are ready," said Ginny. She popped the sugar cube in his mouth and went back to the table. Using a spoon, Ginny pried off the softened outer layer of one of the smaller cakes and deposited the soggy mass into the water glass.

Harry eagerly opened his mouth when she held out the food to him. He closed his lips over the mush-filled spoon and Ginny pulled it, now empty, out. Suddenly, Harry's face screwed up and he pushed the glob out of his mouth with his tongue.

The glare of betrayal he gave Ginny would have been laughable – if it didn't break her heart so… Harry leaned his head forward and used his bandaged hand to help push his left thumb back in his mouth. Then he lay back, sucking, and looked pointedly away from Ginny.

Hermione continued to work on making the potions. The heat from the afternoon sun was warming the cabin considerably adding to Hermione's feeling of weariness. She had to hold the pot with the painkiller over the slightly smoking cauldron as it was boiling. Her arm was getting tired and the steam caused her face bead with sweat and made her hair even more frizzy than usual. At last, she deemed it ready, and set the pot down to cool, before next chopping up the skullcap for the sleeping potion.

Ginny had taken to trying to get Harry to eat more of the rock cake with a crushed sugar cube mixed in, but he would have none of it, scowling and turning his head away from her. The movement caused his scar wound to hurt more and so he reached his hand to it. Again the contact made it worse and he whimpered in confusion and pain.

"Ginny, pour that pot into a bowl to help it cool faster," instructed Hermione. Ginny did so, and when it was cool enough, poured some into another glass for Harry.

Ginny wondered fleetingly if he would even understand her, but said anyways, "Harry, drink this, it will help your hurts." She gently but firmly pulled out Harry's thumb, raised his head as before, and held the glass to his lips.

_Wa-wa?_

Harry took a swallow and sputtered at the acrid taste, but Ginny kept pouring. "I'm sorry, Harry. You have to drink this." She managed to get about half of it into him despite his coughing. The rest covered his chin, neck, robe front and much of Ginny's sleeve.

When Ginny took the glass away Harry coughed a bit more and let out another sob and a tiny, wretched-sounding "_no_."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry," whispered Ginny. She watched, feeling quite wretched herself as Harry half turned away to his right side, snuffling and whimpering forlornly. His left arm remained limply behind his back, but Ginny saw his thumb was twitching.

Ginny paused in thought and then carefully pulled back part of the quilt. She could see Harry's right arm and leg were pulled tightly to his body in a fetal position, while his left leg remained straight. Ginny tentatively reached out and patted Harry's left hand. It jerked in sudden movement and fell back behind him. Then Ginny lifted his arm, moving it over his body so that his hand was by his face. Harry glanced at her angrily out of the corner of his eye, looked down at his hand and pushed it up with the other so that he could again suck on his thumb. Ginny covered Harry up with the quilt and backed away to the table where Hermione was now brewing the second potion.

"Hermione. Something else is wrong," whispered Ginny. "His left side's not moving right."

Hermione did not look up from her work. She sighed heavily. "I was afraid of something like this," she said quietly, shaking her head. After a moment, she continued. "From what I've read about brain injuries, I'm afraid Harry may have damaged or even severed the connection between the left and right hemispheres of his brain, so that motor movement messages get garbled –"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, Hermione? Is this more Muggle medical nonsense?" Ginny hissed, cutting her off.

Hermione looked up, clearly taken aback. "It's _not_ nonsense. It's Muggle science and it's as legitimate as magic," she retorted hotly.

"I'm sorry," Ginny murmured, looking down, ashamed.

"I'm sorry, too, Ginny. I tend to get too technical when I'm under stress. What I'm trying to say is that when Harry stabbed his scar with the basilisk tooth, it went in deep and the wound could be preventing his mind from telling his body what to do."

Ginny just stared at her.

"Erm, I also tend to get condescending and 'know-it-all-ish'. I'm just guessing, really."

"Your potion's about to bubble over," pointed out Ginny, dryly.

"Distracted, too…" mumbled Hermione as she moved the pot off the fire. "He's going to like this one even less," she added dismally.

Ginny was not sure which she was dreading more: forcing another potion down Harry's gullet or the mysterious 'kotterize' that Hermione wouldn't speak of.

"I may as well give him this one, too. He's already mad at me. No sense in him hating us both," finished Ginny with a desolate sigh.

"I've got to distill it a bit more, first. It needs to be strong," said Hermione, silently praying that it would work.

When it was finally ready and cooled enough, Hermione poured some into the now empty and cleaned firewhiskey bottle. "It might be easier with the smaller opening," she explained.

"Right," said Ginny. "Pass it to me when I say, alright?" Taking a deep breath to brace herself, Ginny grabbed a serviette, climbed up onto the bed and sat beside Harry.

Harry was half dozing and regarded her through lidded eyes. _Not her…_

Ginny gently lifted and moved Harry's upper torso slightly over, sliding her knee under his shoulders and letting his head rest against her. Then she slowly pulled his thumb out of his mouth and tucked the serviette into his collar. "Okay," she reached out to Hermione and accepted the bottle from her. "Harry? I have another drink for you. Last one, Luv." She pressed the bottle firmly to his lips. "Open for me, Harry," she coaxed.

Harry kept his lips pressed tight together and huffed through his nose. _No, no, no._ He would not meet the girl's eyes. A small drop of potion leaked out and dribbled down his chin.

"Please, Harry. Don't make this hard…" Ginny pleaded, her voice wavering.

Hermione stepped closer. "Do you want me t-"

"NO!" Ginny snapped. "No. I'll do it." Harry was startled by the vehemence of her tone and half gasped. Ginny forced the bottle in and held his chin so that he couldn't spit anything out. But neither did he swallow and she watched as his cheeks filled with the liquid and he tried to force it back up into the bottleneck. She could hardly bear the look of utter misery in Harry's eyes.

"Help me, Hermione." Ginny's tone was defeated.

Hermione climbed on the bed. "When I say to, pull the bottle out." She nudged Ginny's hand aside and placed her own on Harry's chin. "Now!"

As Ginny pulled the bottle away, Hermione clamped her hand tightly over Harry's mouth. The small amount of liquid that was left in the bottle sloshed out and some went up Harry's nose causing him to cough and his eyes to water.

He snorted futilely at the burning sensation in his nose and throat, and began to whine piteously. _Hurts._

"Stroke his neck, Gin. It'll help it go down."

Ginny was crying openly now and she could barely get her words out. "It's okay, Harry. I-It'll be okay. Just s-swallow, please," and she did as Hermione instructed. After several convulsive swallows the potion was gone and Hermione removed her hand.

At once, Harry inhaled in a deep, extended wheeze that seemed would never end. Finally, he let out his breath with a burst of tears. _No, no, no, no…_

Ginny wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his hair. "'M sorry, sorry. 'M so, so sorry," she repeated, rocking him gently back and forth.

Hermione mutely patted Harry's shoulder before it dawned on her that Ginny needed comfort just as much. She leaned closer and rubbed soothing circles on Ginny's back. After a while, Harry's sobs grew farther apart, and he began to loose consciousness until there were only occasional involuntary shuddering gasps.

"Gin?" Hermione patted her friend's back lightly. "Ginny, I need you to help me. I'll need you to hold his head absolutely still if I have to…" she trailed off.

Ginny looked up, eyes wet and nose running. Blinking, she wiped her face with her sleeve and nodded resolutely.

Hermione was torn. She was afraid to do more damage to the wound by removing the pressure of the bandage. She wasn't really sure how long to expect before the bleeding should slow down. On the other hand, a bleeding head wound was dangerous. If it wasn't clotting on its own she would need to take drastic measures to seal the wound. There was no telling how long it would be before they could get help, she worried, and she fervently wished she had read more on the subject of head wounds.

Coming to a decision, Hermione carefully began unwrapping the bandage she had fashioned, with Ginny lifting Harry's head to assist. Hermione gingerly removed the folded towel. It was blood-soaked – red, turning brown at the edges. Fresh blood seeped slowly out of the wound and oozed towards Harry's eye. Hermione stopped it with a corner of the towel.

"It's not good. We'll have to cauterize it." Before Ginny could ask, Hermione continued. "It means we have to burn it. It's the only way to seal the skin to stop the bleeding."

Ginny tried to stifle her gasp of horror. Hermione couldn't meet her gaze. She rewrapped the wound and went to the fireplace, taking up the fire irons. The poker seemed too thin to properly cover the wound, and the small shovel, too big. She settled on the tongs, figuring she could use the outer part of one side to do the job, and placed them into the smoldering cauldron. She added some tinder and a small log and the fire flared up some. "We have to wait until its red hot." Ginny shuddered and Hermione silently berated herself for not starting to heat the tongs up before. It was foolish of her to let denial will out over precaution.

"I'm going to get more water," murmured Hermione. "We'll need plenty to refresh cooling cloths." She poured the remaining water from the bucket into two of Hagrid's barrel-like tea mugs and went outside.

-------------------

Next up, Chapter 4: Lucius


	4. Lucius

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**Chapter 4: Lucius**

Ginny slid her leg out from under Harry and gently laid him back on the pillow. His face still held a slight frown and Ginny couldn't stop the rush of thoughts: _What if he can't be cured? What if he doesn't remember me? What if he doesn't love me anymore? What if he di-_

She heard a sudden scuffling in the leaves outside. It did not sound right. Ginny froze for but a second and then leapt into action. She dashed to the table and grabbed the knife Hermione had been using, just as the door burst open.

It was Lucius Malfoy. He looked very different. His robes were dirty and burnt on one side, his hair was disheveled and he was missing a boot. His eyes were the same, though. Narrowed and haughty and malevolent. He snorted contemptuously at the sight of Ginny holding the vegetable knife. "You repugnant little blood-traitor," he hissed. "What, exactly, do you think you can do with _that_?" He eyed the knife with a look of amused derision.

"Where's Hermione? If you –"

"_If_ I? The mudblood won't be bothering us anytime soon, Ms. Weasley, and if you don't want similar treatment, I'd advise you to put that down."

Ginny held the knife steady as she inched sideways so that she was between Malfoy and Hagrid's bed. Her mind was racing. She couldn't see Malfoy's hands, but he clearly had no wand or he would have hexed her already. She knew she could not hope to win in hand-to-hand combat with the large man. Even with the advantage of her weapon, Ginny had little doubt that Malfoy could easily wrest it from her.

Malfoy cleared his throat pointedly. "Well, Ms. Weasley? I'm waiting. But I warn you," and here he lowered his voice darkly, "I'm-not-feeling-particularly-patient."

"CRUCIO!" Ginny shouted and hurled the knife toward Malfoy's heart like a deadly quaffle. His eyes widened in fear as he threw up his arms in vain reflex against the curse. The knife sank into his forearm and he screamed in pain as Ginny raced back to the table to grab the tongs out of the cauldron.

Malfoy, realizing the curse was a hoax, pulled the knife out of his arm and it clattered to the floor, just as Ginny let out her own anguished cry. She hadn't thought of that the tong handles would be so hot. The thin bandage on her already blistered hand was not enough to protect her skin from further damage. She dropped the tongs and grasped her wrist, hissing. That's when she discovered what had happened to Malfoy's other boot. It came crashing into her face, knocking her on her side. Before she could regain herself, Malfoy struck again, hitting Ginny just over the eye with the boot's heel. Ginny's vision was spotty and she was too dazed to dodge the next blow. Her last thought was that she'd failed Harry in every way, and then there was nothing.

"Disgusting," sniffed Malfoy, eyeing Ginny's crumpled form and bending to pull his boot on. He straightened his robes and swept to the bed where Harry was, eyes closed and oblivious. "And more disgusting, still," he wrinkled his nose as he surveyed the half-prone boy and the faded quilt under which he lay. Leaning over, Lucius roughly pulled the bandages from Harry's hand and used them to bind his wrists together tightly.

Harry's stirred at this and his eyes opened halfway. _Who?_

"You want to be more careful with your temper around your house elf, Potter," said Lucius, haughtily.

Harry regarded the new stranger for a moment and furrowed his brow before passing into oblivion once again.

Lucius hoisted Harry's limp form over his shoulder and turned to leave. He paused as he came to the bloody knife, and bent awkwardly under Harry's unwieldy form to retrieve it before exiting the hut.

Deep in the Forbidden Forest, Lucius, panting indignantly with the effort of the trek, unceremoniously dropped his burden to the ground.

Harry grunted at the jarring landing; he was slowly coming round. There was dirt irritating his eyes and nose and mouth and he coughed reflexively to clear his airway. _Hurts._

Lucius viciously pushed on Harry's shoulder with his foot, rolling the boy over onto his back. Harry blinked and squinted; the sun was high overhead, peeking through the trees in patches of sporadic brightness. His eyes came into some semblance of focus, and he saw an angry-looking man with long, pale hair towering over him.

Lucius suddenly flew down at Harry, shaking him violently by the shoulders and shouting. "What did you do, Potter?" Harry just shook his head, making a garbled sound. "You have-ru-ined-ev-ry-thing," ground out Lucius, punctuating each syllable by shaking Harry so that his head banged on the ground. Tears were streaming down the sides of Harry's face now, as he looked up at his attacker in abject terror. Malfoy pulled the bandage down over Harry's eyes, revealing the still-oozing scar. "Is it there? _Is it still there?_" he hissed, wildly. He pulled the knife out of his belt and without warning pressed its tip into the wound, widening the opening by twisting the flat of the blade.

Harry gasped until his breath caught and blindly raised his bound hands instinctively toward the source of this new tearing pain.

Lucius shoved them back down and pressed his knee onto Harry's arm and chest, effectively immobilizing him. His face in a grimace, Lucius stuck his thumb and forefingers into the cut. "I have it!" he laughed triumphantly, and pulled a small, dark object from the wound.

Just then, something came barreling through the trees, shoving Lucius away from Harry.

Harry's arms flew up to press on his forehead. He was still having trouble catching his breath, his mouth gaping soundlessly with the effort.

"POTTER?"

The blindfold was pulled down to his neck, and Harry opened his eyes to see another pale-haired stranger leaning over him and staring him in the face.

Draco froze when he met Harry's terrified eyes. Then, impulsively, he cupped Harry's cheek in his hand. "It's okay, Potter," he said kindly, "I'll help y–"

In the next moment the new stranger disappeared from Harry's view as he was knocked aside by the first. Harry tried to raise his head to relocate him, but shrank back when the first man yelled.

"BOY! How _dare_ you!" Lucius stood over his son, right fist clenched and blood-smeared.

"I 'dare', Father," returned Draco softly, and slightly dazed. He pushed whatever _that_ had been from his mind and spoke with muted vehemence as he rose. "It's _over_. What the hell are you doing?"

"You foolish boy! _I_ have retrieved the last Horcrux. We can bring our Lord back!"

"Why? Father, why would you want to _do_ that? He was mad. He killed Mother –"

"Silence! Impudent ingrate. You have shamed me in the eyes of the Dark Lord, but I, _I_ will redeem myself with _this_." Lucius opened his fist, his look of triumph swiftly fading as he beheld his ruined prize. It was a charred, shriveled thing – dead and powerless. Useless. He let it fall from his hand; it landed with a dull sound in the leaves.

A rage welled up in Lucius Malfoy like none he had ever felt before. "YOU!" He tore at Harry and threw himself on top of the boy, grabbing Harry's neck in both hands.

"FATHER! NO! Let him alone!" Draco pulled Lucius back, freeing Harry.

Harry drew in deep lungfuls of air and watched as the two men struggled.

Lucius succeeded in elbowing Draco in the gut. Draco fell to his knees clutching his stomach and Lucius lunged for Harry again.

Harry tried to roll away. "Nooo-" He found his voice, but it was quickly cut off along with his airflow as the longhaired stranger squeezed his neck tighter and tighter – and then he met the man's brutish eyes. Unexpectedly, the strangling hands at his throat went slack as the angry man's face turned aghast. At that very moment the kind boy – who had by this time gained his feet – pulled the first man off of Harry yet again. Harry closed his eyes, wheezing in great, ragged breaths. He wanted to be away, _away, AWAY_–

……………………………………..

Next up, Chapter 5: Reunions Part I


	5. Reunions

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**Chapter 5: Reunions**

Hermione pulled herself through the open door of Hagrid's hut pressing a hand on the throbbing lump at the back of her head. Ginny lay in a heap in the floor, her eyes closed, her face bloodied. Hermione staggered to her side, still dazed from the heavy blow of her unknown attacker.

"Ginny. Gin?" Hermione lightly patted Ginny's cheek as she called her and Ginny gave a low groan. "Ginny, wake up. What Happened?"

Suddenly, Ginny sat bolt upright. "Harry," she said at once looking around frantically. The sudden movement gave Ginny a wave of dizziness, and her vision started to close in at the edges.

Hermione grabbed the younger girl's shoulder to steady her and looked to Hagrid's bed. It was empty.

"He's gone –" broke Hermione, just as Ginny gasped out:

"Malfoy! Lucius Malfoy was here," her voice grew stronger and rose in pitch as she went on. "I tried to stop him. I tried to – I threw the knife. I _missed_. He took Harry and ­– Where _were_ you, Hermione?" Ginny looked up accusingly.

"M-Malfoy must've snuck up on me. Hit me from behind. I didn't hear or see anything." Hermione stood, her face burning in shame, as she helped Ginny up. Ginny blamed her, and she, Hermione, blamed herself, too. But this was no time to dwell on fault. "Come on. We have to find Harry. I don't know how long I was out for, Malfoy may have a fair head start."

As they headed toward the door, there was a sudden, deafening _Crack!_ behind them and the two whipped around to see what it was.

≤≥≤≥≤≥

He felt tight. Too tight everywhere. Alone and dark and tight. Then, abruptly, the feeling was gone. Harry opened his eyes and tried to cry out, but it turned to coughing caused by dust clouds rising around him. He was lying on a hard, uneven surface. It was dim but for a stream of light entering through a broken, partially boarded window. _Mum-ma, where? Mum-ma?_

The building in Godric's Hollow that had once been home to Lily and James Potter was in shambles. None of the Potters' friends had had the heart to rebuild. The local Muggle children believed it to be haunted, and dared each other to enter the house. No one who took the dares succeeded. Any who approached the front door suddenly found themselves with other pressing matters to attend to, and the jeers of "Coward!" and "Wus!" from their mates did nothing to impede their hasty retreats. So when a frightened teen appeared in the ruins of the living room with a loud bang, it was observed only by a small, grey field mouse, who darted under the remains of a moth-eaten sofa. The mouse stayed there for a very long time, regarding the shaking human. At last, there was another bang, and the mouse was again alone.

_Too, too tight. Crack._ Harry was back in the room. On the big bed. Away from the bad. Away. His hiccoughing subsided and he sucked on his bottom lip and sniffed several times, shuddering. He lowered his arms, which had remained pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, and curled up in a fetal position, completely bewildered. Harry saw the one who was not-Mum and the other, looking at him. He pulled his hands – still bound together at the wrists – in front of his face protectively, and peeked at the two uneasily through his fingers.

≤≥≤≥≤≥

Hermione and Ginny stood, dumbfounded, gaping at Harry, who had clearly just Apparated. Then they hugged each other and let out half-laugh-half-cries of relief. The embrace was short-lived though, for there was an unexpected shout from outside.

"Move it, you git!"

"Ron?" whispered Hermione in disbelief.

"That's Ron," Ginny reassured her, nodding, and then they both jumped, as someone fell over the threshold and landed hard on the floor.

It was Draco Malfoy. His hands were tied behind him and he wore a blindfold. He looked badly beaten and he stayed exactly were he landed, cheek pressed against the floor and breathing heavily. Ron followed immediately, and stopped dead in his tracks seeing Hermione and Ginny. It was the best sight he'd seen in a long time.

Ron stepped over Draco's bedraggled form to embrace them tightly. The three stood, just clinging to each other in silence. Then, Hermione broke down.

It started with great sniffs and gulping, which Hermione could no longer contain. Soon she was in the throes of a full blown bawling fit, trying to speak, but completely unintelligible.

"Shhh, 'Mione," Ron comforted her and she clung to him more tightly. Ginny disentangled herself from the group hug, enabling Ron to wrap his arms completely around Hermione.

When she'd at last calmed enough to be understood, Hermione stammered, "I th-thought you were dead…"

Ron guided Hermione to sit in one of Hagrid's huge armchairs and knelt before her, taking her hands in his. Ginny saw that Ron, too, had telltale wand burns.

"Me?" He half-snorted. "Not bloody likely." He stood and kissed her on the forehead, turning to haul Draco up roughly by the arm.

"But Greyback…" Hermione began

"Sectumsempra – for enemies." Ron's eyes shone and his voice was low.

"What about Bellatrix?" Ginny asked.

"She's dead too. Greyback –" Ron gulped to avoid gagging at the memory. The werewolf had looked directly into Ron's eyes as he'd died. 'Appalled at what you've done, pup?' he'd taunted Ron. 'No matter. I'll be with Bella.' He actually managed a macabre, burbled laugh, blood flecking over his grinning lips. Ron cringed and tried to thrust the image from his head.

"She's dead," he finished, shaking his head. "Then I came across this…filth." Ron dragged Draco to the back wall and shoved him against it. Draco stumbled blindly and fell back hitting the wall with a grunt and landing inelegantly on his behind.

Harry, dazedly observing all from the bed, lowered his hands a bit, to better see the new arrivals. _Boy?_

"'Pretty boy', here, didn't have any fight left in'im. No Dark Lord to rally 'round took the piss out of him, I guess," sneered Ron. "Too bad. I would've liked to 'ave been the one to break his face."

"Where's Malfoy senior?" demanded Ginny. "He was here. He attacked us and took Harry away."

"Wha- Harry?" Ron rounded on Draco, grabbing him by the front of his dusty robes and shaking him forcefully. "You bloody bastard! Where are they? Tell me now or I'll ­–" Draco cringed at the unexpected assault, but then made no move to resist.

"Ron," shouted Ginny, over her brother's threats. "Harry's here. He managed to Apparate back." She pointed to Hagrid's bed where Harry lay on his side, his face quizzical and his bound hands tentatively reaching out.

"Mm, P-P'…ee…Boh…" Harry murmured, raising his head slightly and squinting at Draco. Small though this effort was, it was too much for the worn out youth. His head fell back to the pillow as his eyes slowly closed.

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione said at once. Ron in relief, because he hadn't realized his friend was here and ­– somehow – alive, and Hermione in horror, because she had forgotten all about the lethal scar wound.

At the same time, Draco uttered, "Potter's alive?" his ragged voice tinged with incredulity and relief.

Hermione ran to Harry's side to check his wound but stopped short, eyes widening. "How –? It's…closed."

Ginny joined her to see the now scabbed over wound. "Thank Merlin," she said. It looked nothing like a lightening bolt now, just a large, dark, indistinct shape, with a few tracks of dried blood leading out from it down the length of Harry's almost tranquil face.

Hermione could hear Harry's steady breathing and could feel it having a calming effect on her. Ginny felt it too and sighed deeply, rubbing Hermione's shoulder.

"No 'kotterize'," was all she said. Hermione looked at her, eyes bright with tears of relief. Ginny's heart welled up with emotion when she thought of what Hermione had been willing to do to save Harry. Her thoughts then jumped back to the danger posed by the as yet unaccounted for senior Malfoy. She approached Draco and hissed at him, "Hold still," before grasping the blindfold and pulling it down. She did not release it, but held it about Draco's neck, noting tearstains in the grime and blood on his face.

"Where is your father?" She said it not really as a question, but more as a statement, that she fully intended _would_ be clarified by Draco in no uncertain terms.

Draco blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. He swallowed hard and averted his eyes, but said nothing.

"Tell me," she said evenly, her hand shaking and knuckles whitening around the blindfold. Draco remained silent, not looking up, his breath hitching slightly. Ginny pulled the blindfold toward her so that the back of the cloth began to dig into Draco's neck.

Hermione watched Ginny for a moment, wondering how far the young Gryffindor would go, and then realized: she just didn't care. When she thought of all the evil things the Malfoy's had collectively done it made Hermione burn with rage. Her throat grew tight and she realized (sharply, because of her blisters) that her hands were clenched in fists and that there was a part of her that wanted, yes, _wanted_, Ginny to strangle the life out of Draco Malfoy. And worse still, that she felt only a little remorse for harboring such sinister feelings. Then she understood. This is what war does. It takes that which is good and kind and twists it into an ugly, callous thing. The Light side cannot avoid being sullied by that which it wants to eradicate. It cannot 'win' a war using terms set by the Dark. It can survive. She had survived, and in this moment, Hermione could begin to really see what it had cost her. She wondered if she could ever feel good and pure and righteous again. She didn't think so… Turning her back on Ginny and Draco, Hermione shifted her focus to Harry and getting him cleaned up and comfortable. She set to unbinding his hands and stopped again in surprise as she saw his burns were practically gone. There was no charring or blistering on his fingers, just too-pink flesh. She also discovered (less enthusiastically) that Harry must have wet his pants some while ago.

"Damn it, answer me!" Ginny had continued grilling Draco as Hermione ruminated, and was holding the cloth about the Slytherin's neck with both hands now ever tighter, ignoring the pain in her wand hand.

Draco was pulled out of his own dark thoughts by the violent tug that accompanied Ginny's last exclamation. He was thinking if he could just stay very still and very quiet perhaps he'd disappear, or they might kill him. _Can you will yourself to die?_ he wondered.

Ron was ill at ease, to say the least, watching his sister lay into the defenseless Malfoy – even though he had been doing just that himself, prior to arriving at Hagrid's. No. He didn't like seeing Ginny behaving this way at all.

"Stop Gin. Let me," he said firmly. But Ginny just looked up, her eyes fiercely locking with Ron's.

"_Lucius_ won't stop. He will hurt Harry and I am _not_. going. to let. that. happen – _ever_ again," she ground out, jaw clenched.

Draco looked up at this. "It won't," he said barely audibly. Ginny's hold on him was such that he couldn't swallow the growing lump in his throat. He blinked against the watering in his eyes and saw the two redheads regarding him with venom.

"What did you say, _ferret_?" snapped Ron.

Draco tried to clear his throat. Ginny released her hold and Draco fell back against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to stifle a whimper.

"He's dead," Draco voiced hoarsely, now looking down at his legs.

Ginny had a glimmer of hope in her tone, "Prove it," she said.

"I – I killed him," was all Draco could manage.

Hermione's hands faltered as she was washing Harry's face and she dropped the wet cloth on his chest. She turned, horrorstruck, to Malfoy. Patricide? Even of a Malfoy, Hermione found it hard to imagine, though she knew Tom Riddle had done it. But Draco, after all, had been unable to kill Dumbledore when he'd had the chance.

"I don't believe him," Ginny said, looking from Ron to Hermione. "This could be a trick."

Draco let out a single hysterical laugh.

"Where's the body, I want to see it," said Ginny coldly. Hermione gave an involuntary shudder and Ron stared, not sure what to think of his sister's single-mindedness. Ginny was not unaware of their reactions. "He wants to hurt Harry," she said, defensively.

"I don't," said Draco, softly. "I'll take you to…him." He struggled to gain his feet but fell back. Ginny and Ron each took an arm and heaved their prisoner up.

"Stay here, Ginny," ordered Ron, holding up a hand.

"No, Ron. You can't protect me. What could possibly be left to protect me from?" She half laughed at the absurdity of her older brother's intent.

"You want to leave Harry and Hermione here alone?" asked Ron soberly. "What if he _is_ lying and Mr. Malfoy comes back? What if there _are_ other Death Eaters out there?"

Ron's tactic worked. Ginny let go her hold on Draco's arm and went to Hagrid's cupboard, retrieving a carving knife. "If this _is_ a trick," she said, steely-eyed, "I won't miss again." And she sat resolutely on the edge of a chair, facing the door.

It was several hours before they returned. The sun was setting as Ron entered Hagrid's abode with Draco in tow. He held the cutting knife Lucius had taken in one hand and guided Draco firmly, but not un-gently, to the back of the hut and lowered him to sit on the floor. Hermione had, after cleaning Harry up as best she could and setting his soiled slacks and underpants to soak, insisted on cleaning Ginny's wounds and at last allowed herself to succumb to exhaustion. She lay sleeping, prone, with her head cradled in her folded arms, across the foot of Hagrid's bed. Ginny had not moved from her position as guard (even while begrudgingly allowing Hermione's ministrations). She watched Ron, silently searching his face for a hint as to what he'd seen.

As Ron crossed the room and put the knife in the wash bucket, Draco inched on his bottom over a bit and let his upper body slide down so that he was lying on his side. He turned his head down to his shoulder as far as it would go.

Tensing, Ginny watched Draco's movements suspiciously and regarded him a few minutes more after he closed his eyes and kept them shut. Then she looked up expectantly to Ron, who just nodded mutely and motioned for Ginny to join him. She followed him to the still-open doorway.

"I need to show you something, Gin." He spoke in hushed tones as they stood in the threshold. Ron pulled a wadded handkerchief from his pocket and unwrapped it carefully, his face twisting in revulsion. Lying in the center of the cloth he held out was a small, blackened object.

"Was it a snake?" asked Ginny, taking Ron's lead and whispering too, as she studied the 'Z'-like shaped object.

Ron shook his head. "It was a lightning bolt." He looked at his little sister meaningfully.

Ginny's jaw dropped and her eyes widened as she looked from the strange object to Harry's sleeping form and back. "What does this mean, Ron?"

"Draco told me –" and here he raised his arm as Ginny opened her mouth to protest, in the hopes of staving off her obvious objection to the source. "Just listen, Gin," he pleaded, and Ginny quieted. "Malfoy told me this was the last Horcrux. He said he found his father pulling it out of Harry's open scar. He said his father wanted to use it to resurrect You-know – bloody Voldemort! Said his dad went mental when he realized it was no good. Tried to strangle Harry."

Ginny's eyes flashed with rage at this and her nostrils flared as she took steadying breaths so that she could hear the rest of the story.

"Draco _says_ he tried to stop him," and it was clear by his tone that Ron did not believe everything from Draco that he was telling Ginny. "Said he hated You-Kn-Voldemort for killing his mum and didn't see why his dad would want him back. Malfoy said his dad tried to kill Harry and when he pulled him off, Harry Disapparated. So his dad turned on him. He says it was self-defense, killing Lucius. He looked pretty ripped about it. I don't know…"

"What about the, erm, proof? Did you see the, uh…"

"He's dead."

In the corner, Draco struggled quietly to shift his body, so that he faced the wall. He could hear most of what Ron and Ginny were saying, and he really didn't want to. It was tearing away the very thin hold he had on his emotions. Then, the hushed conversation faded from his awareness as Draco's mind filled with the events that had led him to this point. He'd killed his father. He felt sickened by what he'd done. Killed his own father, when a year ago, he couldn't even kill the hated Albus Dumbledore. What's more, he'd killed his father to save his nemesis, Harry Potter, 'The Boy Who Just Wouldn't Die'. He hadn't meant to do it. And yet, despite his anguish at what he'd done, Draco couldn't suppress the feeling of deep relief he felt knowing Potter was still alive. He didn't know what to feel. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what would become of him and he didn't care. He just wanted his misery to be over. And then, Draco Malfoy – Pureblood, Slytherin, Death Eater – cried.

Harry could hear sniffling and he could hear distant whispers. But the sad was closer. Someone was sad. On the floor, crying. He remembered Mum-ma had been crying…

Harry slowly rolled over on the bed and lowered his feet to the floor. It was cold and he gave a little shiver, but let himself down the rest of the way so he could crawl to the table. He tripped on his robes when they caught under his knee, but righted himself and kept going, undaunted. Once at the table, he pulled himself up by its edge and reached for the sugar bowl, accidentally knocking the cover off. It landed upside down softly on a serviette. Harry clumsily scrabbled in the bowl, and as his hand came out with a fistful of the treats he lowered himself back to his knees. Harry opened his fist to look at his bounty and all the sugar cubes fell to the floor. He scowled and reached for one. Pushing it inexpertly in his mouth caused the scowl to dissipate, and he sucked on the sweet noisily as it slowly dissolved. Grabbing another sticky and somewhat dirt-ridden cube Harry crawled over to the sniffling, shaking form. "P'ee Bo," he called, earnestly.

Draco started mid-shake, and turned his head, straining to look over his shoulder. His back and neck were stiff and his shoulders and arms ached from having his hands tied behind him for so long. Tears slid across Draco's cheek to his ear. His nose was running and clear mucus streamed over his mouth and chin. He blinked his sodden lashes to clear his vision. It was Potter. Holding out what looked like…a hairy sugar cube.

"P'ee Bo," Harry repeated, and Draco looked at him blankly.

"He's offering you a sugar cube, you twit." It was Ginny, speaking as though she was stating the most obvious thing in the world. She and Ron had stopped their conversation when they saw Harry get up, and had been silently observing his movements with nervous curiosity from the threshold. Ginny still hadn't told Ron about how Harry…was, and she didn't want to, because saying it might make it true.

"Wh- what?" Draco sniffed, swallowing loudly.

"He heard you crying, and for some reason he wants to make you feel better. Tell him 'Thank you', open your damn mouth, and take the sugar cube. And smile at him," ordered Ginny, harshly. Draco was too stunned to argue, and frankly, too ashamed.

"Th-thanks, P-Potter," he said and opened his mouth, though he was unable to hide his look of disgust – the thing _was_ filthy, probably from boarhound hair.

Harry awkwardly stuffed the sugar into Draco's mouth. "Ummm," he sounded, looking expectantly at Draco.

"He's telling you it's delicious. Agree with him," came more steely direction from Ginny.

Draco swallowed the lump whole and forced out in a cracked voice, "Good, thanks."

Harry grinned lopsidedly and laid his head down on the floor, snuggling close to Draco's back. "Nigh-nigh," he said, adding softly, "Pih-ee Bo." Then he pulled a fistful of Draco's robe sleeve close, popped his thumb in his mouth, and sucked contentedly.

No one said a word for a full minute.

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Next up Chapter 6: Why-ever This?

Reviews would be helpful and appreciated! 8


	6. Whyever This?

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**Chapter 6: Why-ever This?**

As if there was nothing so unusual about what they had just witnessed, Ginny spoke. "That's enough 'nice-nice', Harry. You're not sleeping on the floor and you're certainly not sleeping next to Malfoy."

At this, Draco reddened and turned his head back to face the wall. Despite his situation, he found himself preposterously wishing for just that: sleeping with Harry Potter. When he had pulled his father off of Potter and looked into the boy's eyes, he'd felt…something. And he was now uncomfortably and unavoidably aware of two very bad things: firstly, that Potter was not wearing any pants under his robes, and secondly, that this close proximity was causing Draco to have some unwanted feelings in his nether regions.

Ginny made to go to Harry, but Ron stayed her arm. His expression was unreadable and Ginny wanted to give in to the urge to look away. Ron just leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing intently. His face looked very much like Mrs. Weasley's then, and it was unnerving. Ron was waiting – Ginny knew from experience with their mother – for an explanation.

Ginny opened her mouth but nothing came out. She found herself quite unable to speak, as if struck with Silencio, and she dearly wished that Hermione would wake up. She swallowed and tried again, but all she could do was shake her head mutely.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Ron demanded.

Ginny wavered. In this moment, she had to decide. Was she going to be able to handle this? Could she be strong enough for Harry and help him no matter what? Or was she going to fold up, playing at denial and thus relieve herself from this responsibility? And then she knew. The Sorting Hat had placed her in Gryffindor. And she loved Harry.

"Harry hurt himself badly to kill Tom. And right now – at least," she said, allowing herself a small glimmer of hope, "his mind is that of a baby's."

Now it was Ron who was speechless.

As he felt Potter's warmth against his back, Draco had begun to feel the stirrings of arousal grow. _But if Potter is a child, then…_ Draco felt sick. He could hear Ginny approaching and swallowed back the bile that was rising in his throat.

"C'mon Harry. Back to bed now." Ginny gently patted Harry's shoulder. He made a nonverbal sound – sort of an annoyed grunt – and huddled closer to Draco's back. Ginny put a hand on each of Harry's shoulders to help him up and Harry reacted by clenching Draco's robes tighter in his fist and hunching his shoulders up.

"PeeBh," said Harry around his thumb.

"Up, Harry. Let's go," coaxed Ginny, pulling on him slightly. Then Harry suddenly snaked out his arm and grabbed onto Draco – who jolted at the unexpected touch and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

"Pih-ee-_Bo_," said Harry sternly, glowering up at Ginny.

"Ron. Snap out of it and give me a hand," said Ginny with perhaps just a bit more force than was necessary.

"What!" At once, Hermione raised her head with a jerk and looked around, bleary-eyed. She propped herself up on her elbow to behold a very strange sight. "What's going on?" she asked. Ron went to her, sidestepping Ginny on the way.

"Alright there, 'Mione?" he asked, sitting beside her on the bed.

Hermione sat the rest of the way up and leaned against Ron, who put his arm around her shoulder. "I'll be fine – really," she added, when she saw that the look of worry didn't leave Ron's face. "Now tell me," and Ron released his hold as she sat up, straightening her robes, "First, what happened in the Forbidden Forest –"

Ron was reassured by Hermione's voice. It was steady now, and business-like – as though she was in 'study mode'. He mused at how that tone used to annoy him when they were younger. Now, Ron found it a bit more than endearing.

"– Then," she gestured to what looked very much like Harry spooning Draco Malfoy, "you can tell me about _that_," and here, she couldn't quite keep the revulsion from her voice.

Ginny's cheeks were hot and she was leveling a very cross gaze at Ron, waiting for him to help her extricate Harry. Ron got up and bent to take Harry under the arms, but Harry just clung to Draco more forcefully and said through his pursed lips, "No." This stopped Ron in his tracks and he stood up straight, dumbfounded.

"Okay, tell me _what_ is going on," said Hermione in disbelief.

"I have no idea, but I don't much like it," snarled Ginny.

Ron, wisely fearing the temper of a Weasley woman, rushed to create a distraction by explaining to Hermione the details of his and Draco's trip to find Lucius' body and Draco's version of the events. Hermione listened without interruption, noting that Draco remained very still during Ron's recounting and that Harry's grip on Draco had relaxed. When Ron was finished, all she said was "Hm." And then she said "Hm," again, but with a bit more emphasis.

"_What_?" said Ginny, exasperated.

"If Mal-Draco," and here, Hermione decided it would be cruel to use Draco's surname, "is telling the truth, and he _did_ try to help Harry, then he is the only person – at least in Harry's mind – who has treated him only with kindness."

"Please tell me you're not saying Harry has taken a shine to Draco Malfoy?" said Ginny, stiffly.

Ron was looking at her, gaping, and she saw that Draco was now staring at her too in alarm, his head twisting back to see over the nest of Harry's hair.

"Erm, more of a 'liking', really," said Hermione sheepishly. "He may view Draco as his protector," she added. As one, the trio of friends turned to the bizarre sight of Harry with his arm resting over Draco. Draco turned his head back to the wall and said nothing, but strangely he found that he liked the sound of being Harry's 'protector'. Harry shifted slightly and his head fell back. His eyes were closed and now they could hear him softly snoring.

Ron didn't need to be told twice. With a stony look from Ginny, he bent back down to Harry and lifted him up. Harry stirred and Ron froze – mid-lift – his mouth in an anxious frown. But Harry didn't fully wake. He just blinked at Ron through half-closed eyes and nuzzled into Ron's chest with a contented sigh. Ron looked down at his friend and felt an overwhelming desire to protect Harry from any and everything that might harm him. Ron straightened, and carried Harry back to Hagrid's bed, where he remained standing. Still overcome with emotion, Ron realized he didn't want to let Harry go. He wanted to hold him and keep him safe forever. A gentle hand on his shoulder startled him and Ron looked up to see Hermione smiling at him, quizzically.

"Let's get him settled, Ron," she said softly, so as not to wake Harry. Ron gently laid him on the bed and Hermione tucked the covers to Harry's chin. Harry's eyes half-opened for a moment and Hermione smiled warmly at him though she wasn't sure he even registered it in his drowsy state. He was just breathing softly now, gentle, soothing breaths. _Maybe,_ mused Hermione, with a feeling of longing, _maybe, if this is what it is, we can give him the happy childhood he was denied. And the unconditional love…_

Ginny glared at Draco's back for a moment and then put her hand to her head, shaking it and exhaling noisily. Ron and Hermione finished tucking Harry in and turned to her in unison as she spoke. "Right. We can't just stay here. If Lucius, Greyback and Bellatrix are …gone," and her eyes shifted to Draco's still form, "then it's safe to go to the castle. We need to get Harry to Madam Pomfrey." Now Ginny was looking at Harry, who remained in peaceful slumber.

"It still might not be safe," said Hermione, taking note that Draco's wand hand appeared burnt, too. "Other Death Eaters may still be out there – wands or no they might be dangerous. How did they get onto the grounds, anyways?" The last was said mostly to herself, as Hermione pondered over that most disturbing puzzle.

"I don't care. I'm going to get help," said Ginny adamantly.

"What – with a kitchen knife?" asked Ron incredulously, his eyebrows disappearing under his bangs. "Against who-knows-what is out there – possibly _with_ a wand?"

"It's not like it's been exactly safe _here_," began Ginny hotly, but she was cut off by Hermione's cry.

"LOOK!" Hermione pointed out the window and Ginny and Ron tensed. "No, it's _alright_. It's _Hagrid_!" she laughed, tears spilling from her eyes. His umbrella was resting on his great shoulder and Hermione could see that it sported scorch marks on the flowery cloth. As the two Weasleys peered out the window to see the lumbering form of the half-giant coming up the path to the cabin, Hermione ran to the front door and flung it open, calling "Hagrid!" relief evident in her voice.

"Hermione? What're you doin' here?" As he stepped inside Hermione wrapped her arms about him, barely encircling his arm. He awkwardly patted her back in return. "There, there, Hermione. S'nice ter see yeh, too. An' you Ron, Ginny," he said, noticing and nodding to his other unexpected houseguests. "Strange goin's-on up at the castle," he went on. "Nearly los' my brelly, here," and he held out the singed umbrella to show them.

"Hagrid?" Hermione had released her hold on the man and had that 'I'm-figuring-something-out' look. "You've never exactly said, but, isn't there a bit of your old wand in that thing?"

"Oh. I shouldn'a said tha'. Well, er, I'd ruther not talk about it jus' now, Hermione, if yeh don' mind," and he hastily tried to change the subject. "Now what are you lot doin' here? Not that I'm not glad ter see yeh, an' all. An' where's Harry?" At this, the three teens looked over at Hagrid's bed and he followed their gaze to see Harry's sleeping form. "Oh! Sorry," he said lowering his voice. "Din' realize – he's alright, in'e?" and a look of worry crossed Hagrid's face.

"He doesn't know," Hermione half-laughed almost to herself. "Of course. _No one_ knows!" Then she addressed the half-giant directly, "Hagrid. It's _over_. Harry did it! It's _over_!" Until this moment, the reality hadn't fullydawned on Hermione. She'd been so worried about Harry, about Ron – she hadn't really contemplated what it all meant. And still she didn't know. Was there a way for the Ministry to detect Voldemort's death? She doubted it. Her faith in the Ministry of Magic's capabilities had flagged considerably. And now her mind filled with more troubled thoughts: Would people believe her? She was the only…reliable witness. Was there some way to prove that Voldemort was gone for good? What would become of the remaining Death Eaters and other Dark Lord loyalists?

It took Hermione a moment for it to sink in that the others were talking animatedly around her, albeit in hushed tones. Ron and Ginny were beginning to fill Hagrid in on some of what had happened. He was dumbfounded– to say the least – and lowered himself into an armchair with a heavy thud that shook the cabin when they told him Voldemort was really dead. They had yet to tell him about Harry's condition, saying only how he'd used the basilisk tooth to destroy the Horcrux. From his seated position, Hagrid noticed someone was lying on the floor. "Who's tha'?" he asked, but Hermione, still wrapped up in her own thoughts, cut in as if he hadn't spoken.

"Hagrid? What strange things have been going on at the castle? And how did your, erm, umbrella get burned?"

"Well," Hagrid cleared his throat nervously, "I don' know abou' tha'. But there was terrible trouble a few hours ago. Madam Pomfrey had 'er hands full, thas fer sure. Seems like every wand in the castle got burnin' hot all've a sudden. Professors takin' whole classes up t'the hospital wing – it was a mad house!"

"And all the wands, were they destroyed?" asked Hermione pensively.

"Destroyed? Naw. Like I said, they jus got real hot. But Madam Pomfrey wasn't too eager to pick hers up again right off, so she was usin salve on the studen's' burns. Poor thin's – lot a'cryin, there. An' then she run out and asked Professor Slug'orn to brew up some more. But 'e wouldn't touch his wand either to stir the potions – fraid a' getting burned again. Made Poppy pretty mad that 'e wouldn' help her, so she jus took up 'er wand – she were in Gryffindor, ye know – an it was still hot. She was afraid t'use it on the burns, case it din' work right, so she Floo-called over t' St. Mungo's fer help."

"But Hagrid, weren't people worried about why that happened? What did Professor McGonagall say?"

"Dunno exac'ly," Hagrid replied. "She sent me off t'collect the wands an when I finished," he added a bit sheepishly, "I left to put my brelly away. I heard her send Professor Flitwick to Floo the Ministry, she was pretty upset an wanted the Aurors t'check the wards right away." The tone of his voice made it clear that Hagrid had wanted to avoid them while he was still in possession of his illegally modified umbrella.

Hermione stood so deeply in thought that she didn't realize she was being addressed until Ron waved his hands in front of her face. "Fill us in?" he prompted, a hint of impatience in his voice.

"Oh. Sorry," she said. Then she explained about Harry's wand burning up and sending a wave of magic out destroying her own wand and, she had then suspected, other wands as well.

"Enough already," hissed Ginny impatiently. "We need to get Harry to a Healer. Let's just _go_!" and she stamped her foot in exasperation. "Hagrid, will you carry him?"

"A'course I will!" He bent to lift Harry and easily cradled him in his arms. Ginny's eyes threatened to tear up again as she thought of how very much like a baby Harry looked, nestled against Hagrid's great chest.

"What about other Death Eaters?" asked Hermione, worriedly.

"I'll snap ther necks like twigs if they s'much as look at Harry," growled Hagrid.

Hagrid carried the sleeping youth down the path followed closely by Ginny and Hermione. Ron brought up the rear with Draco in front of him. Occasionally Draco stumbled and Ron had to steady him by his arm, but Draco was in a daze and didn't seem aware of any of this. As the group turned up the hills toward the castle, Hagrid shook his head and murmured, "Poor Harry. Look at 'is scar. Hope it don' hurt too bad." No one spoke in answer, they just continued on in glum silence.

They were in view of the main doors of their old school when Harry woke. He rubbed his nose where Hagrid's long beard was tickling against it and opened his eyes. "Ahgi," he said softly, his eyes bright with recognition.

"Harry," said Hagrid cheerily, stopping. "Glad to see yeh awake." But Hagrid's cheer was soon dashed: Harry was looking up at him brow furrowed and lower lip quivering. Then he began to cry.

"A-A-Ahgi, A-Ahgi…" he repeated through spasms of tears, his fists clenched in Hagrid's thick beard.

"Harry! Wha's wrong? Am I hurtin yeh?" Hagrid was beside himself. He couldn't stand to see Harry so distraught and felt mortified to think he might be the cause.

"It's alright, Hagrid," Hermione reassured him, reaching on tiptoes to pat the man's huge shoulder. "Just, er, maybe…rock him."

"Harry? Harry? Alright there, Harry. S'alright now," said Hagrid, instinctively joggling Harry and patting his back. "Wha's wrong with 'im?" he asked Hermione, his voice rising frantically. He was at a complete loss as to what to do.

"Calm down, Hagrid. You'll only make it worse –" Hermione stopped immediately, regretting her words as Hagrid shot her a look of abject despair. "No – I mean – Oh, Hagrid. He's just overcome. He's _glad_ to see you. _Really_," Hermione insisted.

"S'got a funny way a'showin it," said Hagrid nervously, as Harry's tears started to abate. "A simple 'Glad ter see yeh, Hagrid' would do."

"See, Hagrid? He knows you – Uh, a little less rocking, perhaps?" said Hermione, watching the tension slowly drain from Harry's jiggling face.

"Well a'_course_ 'e knows me!" He slowed his movements and Harry let go of the beard with one hand and reached up to touch Hagrid's face.

Ginny and Ron had stopped as well – Ron needing to grab Draco by the sleeve (which ripped slightly) to stop him walking into Ginny. The two siblings watched the exchange and both were quietly glad for Hermione. Neither wanted to be the one to tell Hagrid what was wrong with Harry. Neither, still, wanted to believe it.

"Hagrid? How well did you know Harry when he was a baby?"

"Well tha's a silly question, Hermione," said Hagrid, still a bit stung by her earlier comment. "Who d'yeh think watched over him durin Order meetin's? Rubeus Hagrid – tha's who." By this point, Harry had stopped his snuffling and was patting Hagrid's mustache and tugging on it lightly. "He was such a wee lad," reminisced the half-giant looking down at his charge. "Was jus learnin t'walk an talk. Called me –" Hagrid froze.

"Ahgi?" provided Hermione, chewing her pinky nail apprehensively.

"Wha's goin on 'ere? Wha's Happened?"

As Hermione explained about the damage from the basilisk tooth to Harry's mind Hagrid shook his head in denial.

"No. No. Tha' can't be." He looked down and met Harry's shining emerald eyes. Now it was Hagrid who was overcome. _Not Harry. Not poor Harry_, he thought. Then Harry reached up to hug Hagrid around the neck and Hagrid shifted him up easily in an embrace.

"Let's go," said Ginny not unkindly. The party set off again toward the great wooden doors of Hogwarts castle, and Harry made little happy sounds as he bounced in Hagrid's arms.

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Next time, Chapter 7: BACK TO HOGWARTS

(Reviews would be helpful and appreciated! 8)


	7. Back To Hogwarts

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**A/N: **1. I capitalized 'Nurse' because JKR does so with 'Healer' and I feel both jobs are equally important. 2. Look for obscure references to the original _Star Trek_ series and_ The Monkees_.

**Chapter 7: Back To Hogwarts **

When they stopped before the great doors, Harry looked over Hagrid's shoulder and spied Draco. "Pi-ee Boy!" he exclaimed and wriggled out of Hagrid's arms. He crawled to reach the unaware blond whose head was bowed. Grinning, Harry grasped onto the sleeve of Draco's robe to pull himself up by. It tore loose and Harry fell back, flat on his bottom, his bare legs sticking out from beneath his robes. He looked hard at the dark cloth in his hand, his mouth set in anger as if the sleeve had deliberately meant to wrong him.

Draco raised his lids, startled and Harry met his eyes. "Harry…" he whispered hoarsely and lowered them again. The fact that his exposed arm no longer bore the Dark Mark did not even register through his despair. Ron pulled Draco back away from Harry and Draco nearly lost his balance.

Harry sniffed at the sleeve and gave it a new look – one of approval. He clutched it to his chest and gathered his knees under himself starting towards Draco again. Hagrid reached to help Harry up. "C'mon, Harry, we're goin' in t' the castle."

"No," said Harry, jutting his lip out and frowning.

Ginny stared at Harry for a moment, her expression inscrutable. "I can't believe I'm going to do this," she muttered under her breath, then said brightly, "Harry, want a sugar cube?" She tucked her knife into her belt and raised the lid of the sugar bowl to pull out a lump. Harry half-turned his head to look back at her, his glower fading. Ginny held up the white cube and licked her lips. Harry's mouth twitched a bit and he lifted his chin. Then he opened his mouth with a begrudging look, accepted the sweet and turned his head away again while he ate it.

Despite herself, Ginny had to stifle a laugh. "Okay, we're going in now," she said brooking no argument. Hagrid lifted the now unresisting Harry and everyone fell into step behind Ginny. In that moment, even Hagrid could spot the strong resemblance between Ginny and her mother: the indomitable Molly Weasley.

"Er, Ron?" asked Hagrid surreptitiously, needing to lean down despite Ron's famed height. "What's happened to Harry's trousers?" Ron paled considerably when he remembered what they had used to fashion a nappy for Harry.

"Uh, erm…" was all he could eke out. Hermione came to his rescue (and Ron really felt that she should, given that it had been her idea in the first place).

"Hagrid. The fact is that Harry's pants were …soiled. We had to use your pillow case as a nappy – sorry."

"Na' the striped one?"

"Uh, 'fraid so," squeaked Ron, swallowing.

"Blimey, Harry. Try t'hold it in. Tha' one's m'favorite."

The weathered but ever-sturdy doors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry opened of their own accord to admit them. Angry voices could be heard inside. The group stopped as one to listen and Hagrid made to set Harry down.

"Ahgi, uppies," said Harry nervously, and he practically cleaved to Hagrid who lifted him up again.

As it turned out, the Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries had detected an unexplained surge of magic emanating from the Forbidden Forest and going as far as Hogwarts castle. They had arrived, led by Cyril Croaker to investigate even before Professor Flitwick had had time to fire-call the Ministry.

Professor, and now Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall's voice could be heard rising above and quashing all others. "I don't care _who_ arrived here first and I don't give a rodent's posterior as to _whose_ jurisdiction this falls under! I just want it solved. You –" she pointed to the head Auror "– are a little old for House rivalry, Ms. Portman, and as for you, Mr. Croaker," she turned sharply to the senior Unspeakable, "I haven't forgotten why I had to take three-hundred-points from Gryffindor in your fourth year! Now will you _kindly_ and _quietly_ work together and get some answers!" The gathering of Aurors and Unspeakables just stood in stunned silence in the wake of the Headmistress' tirade. "That was NOT a request!" she shouted fiercely, and spun on her heel with a grace that belied her age, leaving in her wake rumblings of shame-filled apologies from her former pupils.

The two leaders moved off to join their teams, which stood on either side of a wheelbarrow filled to the brim with the wands Hagrid had gathered earlier. They spoke quietly and several people on both sides nodded – apparently having received instructions ­– and moved off.

Now the Headmistress was pointed to the new arrivals. "My word…" she was muttering under her breath. "Oh, Hagrid," she said upon seeing him carrying Harry Potter and flanked by Hermione Granger, Ronald and Ginerva Weasley and – she was about to greet them and inquire as to why Mr. Potter was being carried when she saw the last of this group – Draco Malfoy. Her eyes turned to steel. "Draco Malfoy," her voice was vituperative. "Hagrid, explain yourself! What do you mean by bringing a Death Eater into Hogwarts? How did he get past the wards? Does this have something to do with the overheated wands?" As she fired off her questions Harry fearfully wriggled out of Hagrid's grasp and half-hid behind him on the stone floor.

"Actually Prof- er, Headmistress, it's these three who'd be best t'answer yeh," and Hagrid gestured to Hermione and the Weasleys.

The Headmistress had nearly forgotten they were there in her outrage at seeing the former Hogwarts student who had plotted to kill her predecessor and friend, Albus Dumbledore. In the end young Malfoy had not done it, though he _had_ managed to let a small band of Death Eaters enter the castle proper. No one had heard from or seen either Draco Malfoy or his accomplice, Professor Severus Snape (_ex_-Professor Snape, she reminded herself grimly, the man who _had_ succeeded in killing Dumbledore), since that dreadful night the previous year. "My apologies, Ms. Granger, Ms. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter," and she nodded curtly to each in turn. "For not giving you a proper greeting. We've just had a most terrible incident and are in the midst of –" and here her eyes flicked scathingly to the cluster of Ministry officers and her voice lowered "­– trying to sort it ou– are you _quite_ _alright_, Mr. Potter?" He was peering out from behind Hagrid's boot and she found his behavior a bit disconcerting. She had to lean to the side to get a better view of Harry, who in turn hid even farther behind Hagrid.

"Headmistress, we have much to tell you," said Hermione. "May we go somewhere more private?" She shifted her own eyes meaningfully toward the few women and men who still remained by the wheelbarrow and who seemed to still be having some difficulty in cooperating.

Noting their continued discord, the Headmistress said under her breath, "It's as if they never grew up." She shook her head in exasperation and turned back to Hermione. "Of course, Ms. Granger. If you'll please follow me." Minerva McGonagall had known Hermione Granger long enough to realize that when she had something to say it was informative at the least and ­ – more often than not – illuminating.

"Headmistress, I think Hagrid ought to take Harry up to the hospital wing – I'll explain that, too," Hermione added to forestall her former professor's questions.

""I'm going with Harry," said Ginny.

"D'you want me to come with you, 'Mione," asked Ron.

Hermione felt she could have kissed him right then and there in front of the Headmistress and everyone, but instead she said gratefully, "Yes."

"Let's go, Malfoy," Ron said to the shamefaced boy.

"Just a moment, Mr. Weasley. I shall have the Aurors take Mr. Malfoy into custody." She made to signal Ms. Portman but Hermione stopped her.

"Please wait, Professor McGonagall. I think you need to hear what Draco has to say as well." The mystery of Draco's unmarked forearm had not gone unnoticed by the sharp-eyed young witch, but as she was still contemplating its precise meaning she hadn't yet brought it to the attention of her comrades.

"Very well," The elder witch did not attempt to hide the disapproval imbedded in her consent. "But I'll ask that Professor Slughorn join us. I do not wish to hear anything that boy has to say without a hearty dose of Veritaserum. I shall Floo for him from my office. Follow me, please," and then she paused and turned to Draco. "But rest assured, Mr. Malfoy, that when you are through I shall have the Aurors escort you from the premises – no doubt to Azkaban to await trial for your incomprehensible deeds."

As they followed the Headmistress, Hermione called over her shoulder to Ginny, "Don't let Madam Pomfrey bully you and Hagrid into leaving Harry."

"Just let her try…" answered Ginny darkly.

Harry had ventured further out from the safety of Hagrid's bulk in time to see the group leave, with Ron guiding Draco by the elbow. "Pi-ee Boy," he said as made to follow.

"Come up, Harry," said Hagrid, easily lifting him. "Yeh got ter say G'bye to Draco, now."

Harry quite liked being held by Hagrid but he still didn't want to be separated from Draco. This conflict of emotions brought on a fresh wave of tears and Harry clung to Hagrid's neck, watching Draco go over the great man's shoulder and whispering piteously, "Pi-ee Boy, no bye-bye…"

By the time the trio arrived at the hospital wing, Harry had quieted, wide eyes taking in his new surroundings. Only a small queue of students ­– all holding their injured wand hands by the wrist – remained. They were standing at the back of the ward where a Trainee Healer in lime green robes from St. Mungo's was incanting spells.

"Mr. Potter, you're not even a student here this year, and still you manage to need the services of the hospital wing?" Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts stalwart Nurse, addressed Harry in clipped tones but the look on her face was warm and welcoming. Harry looked down at her from his perch on Hagrid's hip and smiled shyly. The Nurse saw the large, puckered scab on his forehead and when next she spoke, Poppy Pomfrey's voice was all business-like. "What's wrong? What has happened?" She instinctively reached for her absent wand, only to remember in frustration that it was not safe to use anyway. Without another word she rushed into her office and returned with another wand, slamming her door (paying no heed to the outraged cry from within of "Wha–? Poppy!") and sending locking and silencing spells on it over her shoulder.

As Hagrid was clearly intimidated by the Nurse (he was innocuously eyeing the ceiling), it fell to Ginny to explain. She was fully aware that her explanation would pale in comparison to the one she imagined Hermione was currently giving Professor McGonagall, but she plowed forth anyways, trying her best to include only the most salient points: Harry was in a battle, he was stabbed in the scar with an old basilisk tooth, his memory was questionable, and his behaviour was like that of an infant. Before arriving at the castle, the group had agreed that it was best not to reveal what had happened with the Dark Lord and the Horcrux until receiving Professor McGonagall's council.

When Ginny had finished, Madam Pomfrey took a cleansing breath. "Bring him here at once," she ordered, and Hagrid rushed to set Harry on the cot she'd indicated.

Harry tried to cling to Hagrid and the half-giant whispered, "Y'have t'set down on yer own there now, Harry. I'm too big."

"Out of my way, Rubeus," bristled Madam Pomfrey, and as Hagrid jumped quickly back, Harry grabbed for him anxiously but missed. He shrank back from Madam Pomfrey who was holding the appropriated wand over him and muttering a stream of diagnostic spells under her breath.

Ginny hastily set the sugar bowl on the bedside table and sat next to Harry taking his hand in hers. "It's okay, Harry. Madam Pomfrey is a very nice witch." At this, the 'very nice witch' barely suppressed a very loud snort. Ginny chose to ignore her and continued trying to comfort Harry. Harry raised his eyebrows at Ginny and looked hopefully over at Hagrid's sugar bowl, sucking his lower lip.

"Please remove his outer robe, Ms. Weasley," directed the Nurse absently before continuing her spell casting.

"Let's get this off, Harry," said Ginny reaching for his clasp. Harry drew back from her. "Oh, all right. Fine. Sugar cube?" Harry sat back up with interest as Ginny removed the chipped ceramic lid and took out another pleasing white lump. He looked pensively from Madam Pomfrey to Ginny to the proffered sweet.

"Moh," he said coyly and opened his mouth for Ginny. Now all his thoughts were on the delicious sensation of the melting sugar on his tongue and he paid no notice to Ginny unclasping his robe and shirt buttons, sliding the clothes off his shoulders and lifting his arms out of the sleeves one at a time.

"_What_ is that he's wearing, Ms. Weasley? Is that a – a _pillow case_?" Madam Pomfrey asked incredulously.

"Was m'favorite one, too," grumbled Hagrid from across the room where he had retreated to.

"Erm, he sort of needs nappies now," Ginny said flushing slightly.

"Mr. Potter is NOT a house-elf!" exclaimed Madam Pomfrey. "Just a moment," she said, regaining her composure, "I've had enough first year bed-wetters to keep a supply of Auntie Grizelda's Self-Cleaning Nappies on hand," and she conjured one onto Harry's cot. "Oh," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I think a thorough Scourgify is in order, first." As she did the spell Harry got a sudden look of surprise on his face and shifted uncomfortably on the cot at the strange sensation. Ginny blushed deeply and turned away as the Nurse magically removed the pillowcase and spelled the nappy onto Harry who squirmed further, adjusting to the new garment.

"This is most unusual," began Madam Pomfrey, and Ginny jerked her head back turning even redder. "Not the nappy, Ms. Weasley. Please, show a little maturity – we all have natural bodily functions." She waved her wand again and then Harry was wearing crisp, white hospital pajamas. "No, I was speaking of Mr. Potter's condition. I will have to consult wi– Oh, I almost forgot!" She quickly turned and waved the wand at the door of her office canceling her earlier spells. It swung open with such force that it banged on the wall and rattled in its hinges. A red-faced woman with a long black plait strode out. Gathering her dignity she drew herself up and straightened the front of her lime green robes.

"Poppy Pomfrey, if you _ever_ –" she began.

"Rose, a modicum of professionalism is in order here," Madam Pomfrey interjected sternly, gesturing to Harry and Ginny with her eyes. Then she continued on as if nothing untoward had just happened. "Hagrid, children, this is Healer Chang from St. Mungos."

Hagrid bowed his head politely in silent greeting – disgruntled still as he was about his pillowcase (which he wasn't sure he wanted back after all).

"Healer Chang did her internship with me here at Hogwarts ten years back. And I believe her daughter was in your brother, Ronald's year, Ms. Weasley."

Ginny nodded and smiled in greeting. "Pleased to meet you, Healer Chang. I'm the Seeker for Gryffindor. Cho was a worthy opponent." _Too worthy, if you ask me_, groused Ginny to herself, remembering how Ravenclaw had trounced Gryffindor and won the Quidditch cup at the end of the year.

At the mention of her daughter, Healer Chang's entire demeanor changed. "She's trying ou' for Puddlemere United nex' season. It's the oldest club 'n the League, y'know," she beamed with pride.

Harry was now reaching into his pajama bottoms and tugging at the edge of his new nappy, trying to pull it off. Ginny, glad to have a reason not to have to compliment Cho Chang any further, successfully distracted him from this endeavor by grabbing another sugar cube. "Oh, no, it's the last one! We'll need something else to distract him. Madam Pomfrey, do you have any sweets?"

"I'm a Nurse not a confectioner, Ms. Weasley!" she snapped.

"Allow me, Madam Pomfrey. I think I have sommat t'help. Ehm, my wand, if y'please," she said dryly and Madam Pomfrey handed it back. "_Accio Bag_," she called. A bright orange handbag with a rather large daisy growing out of the front pocket whooshed to Healer Chang from the office. "I always carry one 'r two items wi' me for emergencies. Now le' see…" and she rummaged through the contents spilling some dirt from the front pocket onto the pristine ward's floor. (Madam Pomfrey, saying nothing, only raised her eyes to the ceiling and huffed at the unhygienic affront. Rose refused to notice.) At last the woman pulled out a comic book. "Ah this is it. 'Wizard Glick an' the Muggle Broom'. It's an old fav'rit. M'bairnes all loved the page where he tries to fly – 'specially Cho," she said and Ginny forced a smile.

"Rose, I asked you out here to assist me with this patient, not to reminisce," Poppy made a show of stepping around the tiny splatter of dirt and approached Harry's cot.

"Sorry, Ma'am," said Rose, feeling a bit like an intern again for a moment. "Here y'go, lad," she said, handing the book to Harry. He ignored this, having returned to trying to extricate himself from the snug-fitting nappy. Ginny took the book. "Let's just help this young man have a lie down, and y'can read t'him while we determine –" she paused, looking up at Poppy questioningly, "– well, wha'ever i' is we're needing t'determine."

"Shall we chat in my office first, Healer Chang? I can outline the diagnoses I am seeking from you."

Rose nodded in reply- a truce understood – and with a "_Mobilipuer_" she waved her wand and levitated Harry.

"Uppys!" Harry gasped in wonder and below him, the white linen bedcovers turned themselves down. At once he was lowered and seated in the center of the cot, whereupon the covers rose up over him to his chin and firmly pressed him back tucking him in quite securely. "Uh," objected Harry in dismay. "Uppys, moh," and he looked about in earnest though he could only raise his head. Before he had a chance to work up a fuss, Ginny held the comic up so he could see it. He glanced at the cover and did a double-take. He saw something…moving. Curious, he leaned his head the last bit forward that the sheets allowed and Ginny tilted the book down to give him a better view. "Uh!" he gasped again recoiling into the pillow in surprise. But his eyes were transfixed on the moving images. Then he looked up at Ginny in wonder.

"It's okay, Harry. It's a comic. You'll like it," Ginny encouraged. "I used to love these. Look, Wizard Glick is waving to you."

Harry furrowed his brow and worried his lower lip for several moments in trepidation. Then he appeared to gather his courage and looked back at the strange object. There was a tiny man with a flowing blond beard and half-moon spectacles waving at him and smiling. He looked familiar to Harry, who now struggled to shift his shoulders and get loose. Ginny furtively looked toward the two older witches. Seeing they were in the office, she pulled one side of the bedcovers loose and Harry's hand shot out. Harry was so focused on the waving Wizard that it appeared he hadn't noticed: his hand remained poised in midair. And then…he waved back timidly – just barely really – with the tips of his fingers and sighed softly, "Hi, Umbah."

The two women returned and Healer Chang made to lift her wand above Harry's head just as Madam Pomfrey had done earlier. She said sympathetically, "Nasty cut on 'is head there. How'd tha' happen?" and proceeded with her diagnostics.

"Rose," Poppy said, after a few moments, preparing herself for the tumult that was sure to accompany her next words, "This is Harry Potter."

Healer Chang nearly dropped her wand. "Oh my. Oh no. Oh m'dearie, no. Why, this is dreadful!" she exclaimed, backing away from the cot and looking at her wand as if it had done a most horrible spell of its own accord.

"What? What did you find?" asked Ginny in alarm.

"Nee-Nee," called Harry to Ginny when he heard her agitated voice. She forced a reassuring smile down at him and gestured for him to continue looking at the comic.

Healer Chang could only babble for a moment before coherent words started to form. "…Bu-bu-but he's _The Chosen One_. How will _he_ ayver be able to d'feat He-Who-Shall-No'-Be-Named in his condition?" Now it was she who spoke in abject alarm.

"Calm yourself, Rose!" snapped Madam Pomfrey. "You are a Professional! Now please give me your diagnosis!"

"S-sorry, Ma'am," said Rose, shaking. "Har– this lad has had a near-fatal head injury. His brain has irreversible magical damage." She faltered slightly but raised her wand again to continue Sensing. "But, tha's odd. Has he, er, The Chosen One, er–"

"'Mr. Potter' will do, Rose. Get a grip, woman," grumbled Poppy impatiently.

"Yes, well, Mr. Potter then. Has he exhibited any difficulties wi' movement?"

"He had," Ginny began, thinking of when they first arrived at Hagrid's, and then she realized something. "But when he Apparated back after…he seemed better." Was it due to the removal of the Horcrux? The Healer seemed to be on to something, and Ginny felt – despite her agreement to wait – that she should give the woman any information that might assist her in helping improve Harry's condition. "The Horcrux, Hagrid. Give it over. Ron gave it to you, right?"

"D-did you s-say 'Horcrux' Ms. Weasley?" stammered Madam Pomfrey uncharacteristically as Hagrid started shuffling through his many pockets to retrieve it.

--------------------------

Chapter 8: Unspeakable


	8. Unspeakable

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**A/N:** 1. Rose is 'movie Cho's' mom so, I tried to convey that she has a thicker version of Cho's accent.

2. I now have a beta! Thanks to the fabulous katzeboston!

**Chapter 9: Unspeakable**

Healer Chang had determined that the basilisk tooth – which she believed still contained traces of poison that would have killed most witches and wizards – partially severed Harry's brain hemispheres and should have caused permanent damage: rendering Harry's left side not paralyzed, but incapable of independent movement. Chang theorized that the poison from the tooth had fortuitously (and inexplicably) gone only into the Horcrux. In addition, she found a small but steady outpouring of unidentified magic emanating from Harry – a phenomenon she was at a loss to account for. Further, of its own accord, Harry's brain seemed to be re-fusing together.

"I'm sorry. I don' understand what this is or how i' relates to 'is regressive behavior, an I don' have the authority to do what's necessary to get the facts. As I said, mine's but a theory." She met her mentor's eyes with a look of foreboding, then drew in a breath. "Are the Unspeakables still here? We need t'get one up here." This was a decision Rose Chang did not come to lightly, for it went against the Witch's Oath she took when she became a Sensing Healer: _Harm None, Do What Ye Will_.

Harry was so mesmerized by the moving pictures in the comic that he didn't notice when the Unspeakable arrived or that Healer Chang had transfigured and charmed a speckled sugar cube, which she handed to Ginny for him.

"Give 'im this," instructed Healer Chang. "It'll help 'im relax," she reassured Ginny, who was looking at the cube suspiciously.

After getting a nod of encouragement from Madam Pomfrey, Ginny took the proffered treatment. "Open for more sugar, Harry," she cooed in his ear, and he did, absently sucking on it till it was gone. He barely registered that it tasted odd. Soon Harry became quite drowsy and his eyelids drooped uncontrollably. "Nigh-nigh, Umba," he murmured to the wizard in the book, but he did not fall asleep. Instead, his eyes glazed and remained half closed as his head lolled to the side.

Ginny eyed the Unspeakable. She found him to be surprisingly average looking, of medium build and height, dark skin, graying hair, dark eyes and pale gray robes. Madam Pomfrey put a hand on Ginny's shoulder and said kindly, "Ginerva, you need to go now." Ginny found that this gentle command was more frightening than any of the Nurse's threats and admonitions ever had been.

"Wait," said Ginny, her voice panicked. "What's he going to do to Harry?" She now looked at the Unspeakable with dread.

"'Unspeakable' dearie," said Healer Chang by way of explanation, but not unkindly. "Now why don' you be a good lass and wait outside?"

"_No_, I'm staying with Harry –"

"M'sorry, but y'canna do that," said Healer Chang.

"I have to!" Ginny blurted out. "I took a Witch's oath," she lied in desperation.

The Unspeakable raised a skeptical eyebrow at the forlorn-looking young witch, but he nodded in consent.

Harry felt very strange, like the cot was spinning him around. "Nee-Nee," he said, groping about feebly for Ginny's hand.

"I'm here, Harry. It's okay." She clasped his hand in both of hers.

"You are not going to interfere, Ms. …?"

Ginny was caught off guard by the Unspeakable addressing her. She had mistakenly assumed they didn't talk.

"Weasley," provided Poppy.

"Ms. Weasley, then. You _will_ take a Witch's Oath now –" his tone clearly indicated that Ginny's lie was understood, "– not to interfere in any way, and I will be putting a Silencio charm on all who are witnesses. Do you agree to these terms?"

Ginny nodded.

"_Silencio!_"

"Nee-Nee," murmured Harry again. Ginny squeezed his hand gently and pressed her lips to it in a soundless kiss. Harry sighed and half-smiled.

The Unspeakable gently but firmly took Harry's hand from Ginny's and tucked it back under the covers. He next laid one hand on Harry's forehead over the scabbed wound, reached his other hand inside Harry's pajama top, pressing it over Harry's heart as he closed his eyes.

Harry moaned softly in protest and soon began mumbling sounds and slurred words. "Gick… Uppy-moh…" After a time he began crying, "Bye-bye, P- Pih… Ahgi, uppys…"

And then Ginny knew. And it _was_ 'unspeakable'. she could only watch in silent horror as Harry slowly began to relive the events of the morning in backwards succession. She had tears streaming from her eyes and she watched him weakly try to turn his head under the Unspeakable's hold. Harry was going back. back…back to _it_. And Ginny could do nothing to stop it.

"Ahgi, Ahgi," Now Harry was crying in relief at seeing his parents' old friend. After a time he murmured a petulant "No," adding softly "Nigh-nigh, Pih-ee-Bo."

Ginny watched helplessly as Harry's breath quickened. He was fussing and hunching his shoulders up. He started to cough and then he was crying in desolation for his parents and Ginny felt her heart aching. She was shaking now as she listened to him. Madam Pomfrey put a hand of comfort on her shoulder but Ginny didn't even notice. Harry was wheezing in great, ragged breaths and cried out a strangled "No-"

Ginny instinctively rose from her seat, but Madam Pomfrey's surprisingly strong hand on her shoulder pressed her back down. She jerked her head up angrily at the Nurse, who just shook her own head gravely in reply. Ginny relented. She had taken an oath not to interfere, but she would do anything to take it back. She believed Harry was now remembering his abduction by Lucius Malfoy and she could only wonder woefully at what pain the Death Eater had caused Harry. He was again choking and then his breath quickened and his arms flew up pulling out the bedcovers. His hands clutched feebly at the Unspeakable's wrist pressed on his forehead and Harry tried vainly to raise his head. His breath caught; his mouth gaped soundlessly with the effort and his eyes were wild and unseeing.

Eventually, Harry's panting lessened. His eyes appeared to be trying to focus, then he relaxed back into the pillow and his hands fell lax on either side of his head. Ginny released her own silent breath. She hadn't been aware that she'd been holding it in. Was it over? She slumped back in her chair and wiped her eyes and nose with the back of her sleeve. But, as she had feared, it wasn't over.

"Mmph, mmph!" Suddenly, Harry was huffing through his nose and he began to whine piteously trying to shake his head from side to side. At last he inhaled – a deep wheeze – and let it out with a burst of tears. Harry's sobs grew farther apart, until there were only intermittent shuddering gasps. Ginny felt a wave of guilt at how she and Hermione had contributed to Harry's suffering by forcing him to swallow the bitter potions, and fresh tears fell as she listened to his miserable whimpering.

Harry's left hand jerked out and a few moments later, Ginny heard his spluttering coughs and his first wretched "no" of protest as her guilt was renewed. And she felt it was right to be caught, just as Harry was, reliving those terrible events, for it seemed somehow a penance.

Harry's face was screwed up and he was sticking his tongue out unhappily. _Hagrid's damn rock cakes_ mused Ginny, and she realized she was actually looking forward to the next bit: sugar cubes. And she was not disappointed. "Mmm Moh," Harry laughed in delight and the sound was an elixir to Ginny. But the feeling was short-lived –­ as Ginny knew it would be – and soon Harry was crying again for his Mum, steadily louder and more frantically, and Ginny felt the pounding of her heart matching the pace of his sobs.

There was another brief respite, wherein Harry mumbled drowsily, "Mmm," and formed a slight smile on his lips. But this peaceful moment, too, was cut short as harry's body convulsed violently and he arched his back letting out a gut-wrenching cry. Again he fell limp but seemed half-aware and Ginny wished she could will it to stop, because she knew what was coming and it scared her as much as anything ever had. That she could not – even swore an oath that she would not – protect her Harry from this was unbearable. Did the Unspeakable know what was coming? How could he? Ginny looked up at him for the first time since he had begun. His face was flushed and his hair was plastered against his forehead. His gray robe was drenched with sweat and his arms were shaking – but still he held onto Harry.

Ginny looked back at Harry. She found herself unwilling – and frankly unable – to stop from replaying the loathsome events as she understood them. Harry had settled to shallow breathing for a time. Was he traveling unconsciously backwards from Hagrid's hut? All at once his face twisted in a grimace of pain and his arms came to life. One pointed up, a phantom wand held in his hand, the other grasped the Unspeakable's wrist again. He opened his mouth and Ginny froze. She had not been conscious when Harry destroyed the Dark Lord, but Hermione had told her exactly what had happened. Harry spoke in a clear voice now. His old voice, she knew. But the word he spoke sickened her, even though she knew at whom – or what – it was directed.

"_Avada_–" With the speed of a Seeker, Healer Chang launched herself at the Unspeakable and wrenched him off of Harry before he finished uttering the Unforgivable Curse.

"– _Kedavra_." Harry gave out a last scream of pain as he mimed jabbing the basilisk tooth brutally into his forehead. Then he fell back, silent and still.

Healer Chang was struggling to support the Unspeakable; he rested heavily in her arms. Then he blinked and, amazingly, smiled. "He…he did it," was all he said before passing out.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," Madam Pomfrey shouted, before the two fell to the floor. She levitated the Unspeakable to a cot and went to help Chang up.

Not daring to believe, Chang asked, "Wha' can he mean?" and she looked at Harry in awe.

When the Unspeakable lost consciousness his Silencio spell was lifted. Still, Ginny said nothing. She felt her heart pounding in her throat and she fought to calm herself. Harry needed her. She had to be strong. On shaky legs Ginny rose from her seat. She was relieved to see that his eyes were half open. His mouth was slack but his breathing was even and that helped to calm Ginny some.

"Harry?" She called to him softly. His eyes opened fully and he blinked, slowly shifting his gaze to take in his surroundings. His lips were now moving slightly and Ginny leaned in closer to try to hear him.

In a barely audible whisper he was pleading, "Mumma? Mum…?" The hope in his voice made Ginny's heart ache.

"Harry? It's me, Ginny," she whispered. His eyes shifted in her direction and he slowly turned his head to better view her. The look of disappointment on his face when his eyes met hers was like a physical blow to Ginny.

"Nee-nee," he said, frowning and his eyes welled up with tears. He turned away from her and curled up. Ginny could hear him snuffling and sucking his thumb. He began to rock his body slightly back and forth. Ginny put a hand on his shoulder, following his rocking motion gently. With her other hand she stroked his hair. Then, she hummed softly as her mother had done for her when she was young.

Soon, Harry's own rocking slowed and his eyes drooped and closed. His thumb slid out of his mouth as he eased into a deep sleep.

Ginny had been so focused on Harry that she'd been oblivious to what was going on around her. Now she looked up and saw Healer Chang giving a potion to the Unspeakable. Madam Pomfrey was just coming out of her office at the end of the ward.

"They'll be here shortly, Rose. They're just waiting for the Minister to meet them," she said, and then went to the door mumbling under her breath. "I'll not have any sort of ruckus in here. They'd better maintain their decorum or I'll Levicorpus them out of here so fast…"

Ginny sat back down heavily but kept a hand on Harry's shoulder – as much for her comfort as for his. She started a mental list of who exactly she thought would be coming besides the Minister of Magic: Professor McGonagall, Hermione, Ron – but that was as far as she got for just then the doors swung open. Madam Pomfrey raised herself up – she looked like a mother badger protecting her young. She stood in the entrance blocking the way and said crisply to the new arrivals, "Headmistress, Minister, there will be absolutely _no_ raising of voices in this ward. Is that understood?"

"Of course, Poppy," said McGonagall, looking meaningfully at Minister Scrimgeour, who nodded solemnly. Madam Pomfrey stepped aside and Healer Chang motioned the assemblage over to the Unspeakable's bedside. He was sitting up on several plump pillows, a look of dazed delirium on his face.

Ginny smiled wanly at Ron and Hermione as they entered the ward after the Minister. Mr. Croaker and Ms. Portman brought up the rear and Ginny wondered if Draco was on his way to Azkaban. She hoped so, but then felt a twinge of regret, thinking of Harry's odd new attachment to his former enemy. She didn't have time to dwell on this though, for the Minister's gruff voice interrupted her thoughts.

"I want a full and detailed report, young man. State your name and begin," he said to the Unspeakable simply and waved his wand. A white Quick Quotes quill and a large roll of parchment appeared in the air beside him, and Ginny wondered why her estranged brother, Percy, wasn't here taking notes. She was glad he wasn't. More tension she did _not_ need.

The Unspeakable had an awed look on his face as he began. "I am Bertrand Singh, Ministry Unspeakable, Third Class Order of Merlin," he stopped there. Mr. Singh could hardly believe himself what he was about to tell them. It didn't seem possible that Harry Potter, at the tender age of seventeen, had done what no other wizard – save his infant self – had been able to do. But he had succeeded, and paid a terrible price for this success. "The rumours of multiple Horcruxes were true: there were seven. But He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is no more and can never be resurrected," he said simply. This pronouncement drew a barely concealed gasp from the usually stolid Minister. He looked from Hermione to Ron, but said nothing and nodded for Singh to proceed.

"Harry Potter and his followers finished what Albus Dumbledore had begun, finding and destroying the Dark Lord's Horcruxes. The sixth Horcrux was created with the murder of Harry Potter's mother, and it was sealed within The-Boy-Who-Lived beneath his lightning bolt scar. He, he nearly killed himself destroying the final Horcrux." A sheen of sweat was forming on the man's brow, but he continued, "This boy is a more powerful wizard than even Dumbledore believed. An enormous amount of his magical potential was being used to 'contain' the Horcrux – to keep it from doing the boy harm. Now, that same energy is being directed outward in the form of one of the most powerful self-protection spells I have ever encountered."

Singh himself had fallen under that spell. Gazing into Harry Potter's eyes had left him with a fervent need to keep the boy from harm. Singh was fully aware of this, yet was still compelled by the magic to act accordingly. For this reason he was hesitant to share this information with the Minister, lest doing so might cause some detriment to the boy. Singh knew Rufus Scrimgeour well enough to realize he would be threatened by the news that looking into the eyes of The-Boy-Who-Lived would cause him to act in ways that might not be best for his political career, so he proceeded with care.

"I believe it was this spell that disintegrated all the wands in the immediate vicinity and that temporarily incapacitated all the wands at a wider range." He took a deep breath and made to continue, but Healer Chang had other ideas for her patient.

"Tha's enough for now. This man needs 'is rest. 'E's just performed a very complex form of Legilimency an i' will take several days at least for 'im to regain 'is strength." Chang – for the same reasons as Singh – did not wish to reveal the specifics of Harry's spell to the Minister. But Scrimgeour was not easily thwarted.

"I need to hear more. I don't like the implications of such power," Scrimgeour said cagily.

"Yes, well I'm sure you don't Minister" agreed Pomfrey. "We can go into my office and Healer Chang can fill you in on some more of the details." She gestured to her door and McGonagall led the way. Scrimgeour followed the Headmistress into the office.

"Ginny?" asked Hermione, "Will you stay with Harry?"

Ginny just nodded dumbly as she watched the rest of the party, including a now deathly pale Chang go in and the door was shut, leaving just Ginny, Harry and the Unspeakable in the ward. Ginny looked ambivalently at the door. Though she wanted to hear what they were saying, she wanted to be there if Harry woke up more. She pulled his covers up a bit and smoothed them out unnecessarily as she blinked back tears.

"You needn't worry, Miss," Mr. Singh's voice was fraught with fatigue. "I'm sure the Healer would rather I rest, but I'll tell you what you want to know."

Ginny sniffed. "How do you know what I want?" she asked dully.

Mr. Singh smiled in reply and tapped his head with a knowing look. "Why don't you ask me anyways."

Ginny blushed but did not avert her eyes from his. She didn't understand fully what Unspeakables did (_Hence the name_, she mused), but this man had been in Harry's mind, so she nodded slowly and ventured to ask a question. "How could a Horcrux have been inside Harry all this time without corrupting him – or killing him?"

"V-Voldemort," Singh tried out the name for the first time and found he could say it without fear. "Yes, Voldemort had intended to create an unprecedented sixth Horcrux with the murder of the infant Harry Potter, but things went…awry. The Dark Lord's soul did split again when he killed Harry's mother, and when the killing curse next hit Harry, it somehow imbedded a piece of Voldemort's soul in his head, rendering the Dark Lord nearly bodiless. The soul can only take so much destruction before the body follows. The Horcrux was the reason why Harry Potter's scar could never be healed. It had a part of a deeply disturbed soul beneath it."

Ginny wondered if that was the cause of Harry's poor vision and if he could now see clearly without the aid of glasses. His glasses were long gone and she hadn't noticed him squinting.

"That's highly possible," Singh answered, as though Ginny had voiced her thoughts aloud.

Ginny asked her next two questions quickly, before the Unspeakable could read her mind again. She found Legilimency highly disconcerting. "What is the Minister so afraid of? What 'implications' is he talking about?"

Singh explained the true workings of Harry's self-protection spell and cautioned Ginny, "The Minister of Magic will take issue with this power over others that your friend possesses. While his physical and spiritual wounds heal, Harry Potter will need staunch allies to keep him free of the Minister's political machine. Unfortunately, the Legilimency I used was extremely draining and it will no doubt add to his recovery time."

"I don't feel any different around Harry. Why isn't his spell affecting me?" As she said this, Ginny thought back to how she felt calmed by Harry's steady breathing. But wasn't that just simply a natural reaction?

"The spell he is radiating imbues those who meet his gaze with the inexorable desire to protect him from harm – _as he perceives it_. Perhaps, those who love Mr. Potter unconditionally are somewhat immune to this spell," explained Sing, "owing to the fact that you already have his best interests at heart."

Before Ginny could ask anything more, the office door opened and the Minister strode into the ward towards them, his brow furrowed. Apparently he had just received the same information as Ginny and he was not at all pleased. Scrimgeour held his wand out towards Harry's sleeping form muttering a spell. A black blindfold appeared above Harry and slid over his head. Ginny gasped in outrage but Harry barely stirred.

"Take that off!" hissed Ginny. She was not at all intimidated by the leonine Minister.

"Young lady," Rufus Scrimgeour said in his most placating voice, "The blindfold is as much for his protection as ours. He is in no condition to adequately assess what may do him 'harm', therefore we must protect his caretakers from the undue influence of his uncontrolled spellwork."

"That's bunk," Ginny said through gritted teeth. "The people who _really_ care about him are immune to the spell." The rest of the group had filed out of the office in time to hear Ginny's retort.

"Ms. Weasly, is it? I don't appreciate your implication that I do not care for Harry Potter's welfare. I assure you that I, of all people, wish to ensure that he gets the very best of care. He is the saviour of the wizarding world and deserves our utmost respect and gratitude. It is my responsibility as spokesperson for Britain's wizardkind to see that Harry Potter gets exactly that. While you may or may not be immune to this particular spell, your hotheadedness is testimony that you are not able to discern what is best for The Boy Who Lived. You, young lady, are but a child with a schoolgirl crush on our greatest hero, and I will not have you disrespect me again, or you will be removed."

Ginny's eyes flashed in anger but she held back her retort. She looked to the others for support and wasn't disappointed. The Headmistress gave Ginny a knowing look and a pursed smile. "Ms. Weasley, would you excuse us please? Why don't you wait in Madam Pomfrey's office and calm yourself." Ginny hesitated for a moment, meeting McGonagall's eyes, and then bowed her head and trudged to the office. She left the door open a crack so she could hear what was going on.

"Minister, with all due respect," began McGonagall in a voice completely devoid of respect, "Mr. Potter's self-protection spell poses no danger to those of us caring for him at Hogwarts. The blindfold is unnecessary here. If you wish to avoid being influenced by the spell, you need merely avoid Mr. Potter's gaze. Please remove the blindfold before you leave."

For a moment, Scrimgeour looked as though he might deliver a scathing retort, but then he thought better of it. He let out a slow breath between his teeth and smiled mirthlessly. "As you wish, Minerva. _Finite Incantatem._" Scrimgeour waved his wand at Harry and the blindfold disappeared. "While Mr. Potter is quarantined in this ward he need not cover his eyes. However, there is the matter of his custody to decide. When he comes to the Ministry for the hearing, I expect proper precautions to be in place so this spell does not influence the outcome. Is that understood, Headmistress?"

"Perfectly, Rufus."

------------------------------

Chapter 9: Draco

Please, feed the author…


	9. Draco

**Regarding Harry**

**By Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**A/N:** Many thanks to katzeboston for her wonderful beta work!

**Beta's note: Please accept my apologies for the lengthy delay! It was entirely my fault. In future I promise to be speedier. :-)**

**Chapter 9: Draco**

Draco was barely aware of putting one foot in front of the other. Some part of him knew that he was moving, that there were people around him. But they were little more to him than a low buzzing in his periphery. He was nowhere. In a humming fog of nothingness. And Draco Malfoy liked it that way. Very much.

This disjointed journey had begun when he and Weasley had arrived at the scene of Lucius' murder. The moment Draco set eyes upon his father's lifeless, blood-covered face something deep inside him twisted and his thoughts raced against a growing force that was attempting to crush them out of existence.

He had killed Lucius. Draco had always feared his father. Had he hated him too? He had desperately wanted to please that man for whom nothing was ever good enough. _Dead. _Now he was dead. _Well, there certainly would be no pleasing him now_, thought Draco somewhat hysterically. And then he'd felt sickened that he could jest over his own father's dead body. _Dead. Dead. Killed. I killed him._ And then the invisible force won out and Draco's thoughts were no more.

Occasionally, Draco's buzzing world was punctuated by moments of cognizance. He didn't like that much. He didn't like that at all. Back at the giant's hovel there had been a rush of it. _Murderer._ And Draco had cried. He'd tried not to. A Malfoy never cried. His father would be very angry – _Oh. No._ He wasn't a Malfoy. He didn't deserve the title. He – his internal diatribe was unexpectedly interrupted by none other than Harry Potter. _What?_ Potter looked so concerned for him. Then, harsh words from the Weasley girl.

Do what you're told.

You are worthless.

_I _am_ worthless._

But Potter – Harry, Harry wanted to stay with him. Where the hell was that damn blissful buzzing? He wasn't getting it back. They were cutting into him with their words and keeping him there. And Harry was…all wrong. He was clinging to Draco and Draco's traitorous body was responding and bile was rising fit to choke him. Draco fought hard to swallow it back. _Thrum_. _Please. Please. Plea– _

"He may view Draco as his protector."

_Protector?_

Harry had been holding onto him tightly, but as the boy relaxed his grip and fell away, Draco's mind fell away too.

"What?"

"Mr. Malfoy. I _said_, please stick out your tongue."

Where was he? Professor McGonagall was talking to him in a rather impatient tone. Professor Slughorn stood close beside Draco with a poised vial in his hand.

"Yes, it's Veritaserum, my boy," provided Slughorn sadly.

Draco blinked. He was in Professor Dumbledore's old office. Granger and Weasley were there as well. After a moment, full awareness came rushing to the fore and Draco winced as if given a physical blow.

"Mr. Malfoy, the _only_ reason I have not yet turned you over to the Aurors is that Ms. Granger has vouched for your cooperation." McGonagall's voice grew harsher still and Draco winced again.

"Draco, please. Just take the Veritaserum." It was Granger. _Oh. No more buzzing then._ Draco looked up mutely at Professor Slughorn, who brought the bottle closer to Draco expectantly. Draco opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. As the third drop landed, he felt a different sort of buzzing. It was a most welcome feeling.

"Snap out of it, you little shite! You're not fooling anyone!"

Draco slowly raised a hand to his face. His cheek was stinging. Where was he, now? Not at Hogwarts, he felt certain. Slowly he took in his surroundings. A small dank cell, poorly lit by a few greasy-smelling candles. One door. No window. No furniture save the straight back chair he sat in and a small table with a pitcher and glass on it. And one more thing. A very angry-looking man was studying him through narrowed eyes. He was rubbing his palms together and getting ready to slap Draco again. Draco's eyes widened as the man raised his hand and he tried to rise from the chair. Foolish. A sticking charm held him fast to the seat and all he succeeded in doing was knocking his chair back. His head hit the stone floor with a painful crack and Draco lay half-stunned, looking at the grit-covered ceiling until the angry man's face came into view. In his stupor, Draco wondered if he would be hit again. He found he sort of didn't care.

The man roughly grabbed Draco by his robefront and pulled, setting him and his chair upright. The man did not release his hold but shook Draco till he looked up at him.

"Listen little boy, it's only going to get worse from here. Just tell me what I want to know before I get _really_ angry. Believe me, you _don't_ want to see me angry…"

"I, I don't want to see you at all!" stammered Draco, his own anger beginning to find purchase. His face hurt, his head hurt, his throat was parched and he was _filthy_. He could smell his own stench and – oh, Merlin it was awful.

"Why you little sh–" The man had raised his hand to strike again when the door opened suddenly and in walked an equally angry-looking witch in Auror's robes.

"Smythe! What the hell are you doing?"

Rupert Smythe froze, hand midair, and looked over his shoulder at his superior, Beatrice Portman.

"I was just –"

"I can _see_ what you were _just_ doing, Smythe. Get. Out. You're on desk duty till further notice," Portman added evenly. She did _not_ tolerate insubordination and Smythe knew it. He lowered his hand and cast his eyes down, mumbling, "Sorry M'um," as he left.

Draco had remained silent during this exchange. His Slytherin instincts were attempting to resurface. _Assess the situation. Find advantages, weaknesses to turn in your favour_, a little voice told him. But Draco found he could do none of those things. He had no idea of where he was or how he'd gotten there. _Then wait. Gather information before you take action._

Draco mustered a weak smile. "Thank you," he said to the witch. "Ms. …?"

"Mr. Malfoy, we've met before, remember? I am Auror Beatrice Portman. I took you into custody at Hogwarts in Headmistress McGonagall's office?" Her tone had an edge to it, as though she was not predisposed to believe anything Draco had to say.

Draco shook his head in response. "I'm sorry. I don't. Please forgive me." _Exude charm, politeness, patience._

The Auror gave a derisive snort before continuing. "I am in charge of the Malfoy investigation."

"I see," said Draco evenly, hoping the Auror would continue to disclose.

It was obvious to Portman that the Malfoy boy most certainly did not 'see'. It was time to illuminate him as to just how dire his situation was. "Mr. Malfoy – may I call you Draco?" At his nod of consent she proceeded. "Draco, you have been charged with multiple counts of attempted murder, with…"

As soon as she had begun to list the charges, a strangling panic arose in Draco. His breath quickened and he started looking about for a means of escape. He wriggled in his seat and found that the sticking charm still held him captive. But he _had_ to get away. He would not – could not ­– listen to what this woman was saying. At last a familiar thrumming fog descended upon him…_Hmmm._

"…is no direct evidence that you killed him in self-defense, Draco." Portman had been reading from a partially unrolled parchment; she paused to see how her charge was taking the information. Damn. He wasn't. She pulled out her wand and conjured a quill and ink pot on the little table. She unfurled the bottom of the scroll and laid it flat, speaking as she wrote, "Prisoner is at times unresponsive…" When she'd finished her addition to the report, she looked up at Draco. His head was tilted slightly and his eyes were half open but unfocused. "I've half a mind to let Smythe back in here and have at you," she mused bitterly. "At least he was able to keep your attention."

Portman knew that she would do no such thing and berated herself for the comment. Empty threats left a bad taste in her mouth. So did rule breaking. She was by-the-scroll through and through. That is how she rose to her position, and that was how she would solve this case. She looked over the parchment again. On it was written a series of detailed accounts, including depositions from Arthur Weasley's youngest two children and their friend Hermione Granger (a high-achieving Gryffindor Prefect, she noted). These were followed by statements taken from Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress at Hogwarts (and Portman's former professor of Transfiguration), the half-giant, Rubeus Hagrid and Horace Slughorn (whose connections to the ministry cast him in dubious light to Portman's way of thinking). She stood rereading the report; there was definitely a pattern to Malfoy's lucidity. Harsh tones and kindness. What was it the Muggle Law Enforcers called it? 'Good cup, bad cup'. _Well, I guess I shall offer the 'good cup'_, she mused as she poured some chilled water from the pitcher onto the glass. With a quick wave of her wand she transfigured Draco's chair into a sofa (keeping the sticking charm intact) and sat beside the boy.

"Draco," she began warmly. "You must be thirsty. It's quite stuffy down here." She tucked an unruly lock of his hair behind his ear in what she thought of as a mothering gesture. Portman had no children and didn't much care for them, so she was on shaky ground here. She reached out to gently pat his shoulder. "It's alright dear. You're safe now. Here," she handed him the glass. Draco slowly lifted his head. He had lost that vacant look and his eyes began to focus on the glass and then on the Auror holding it.

"Th-thank you," he said softly and slowly reached for the water. As he drank, he looked around warily.

"I'm sorry about Mr. Smythe. That was…regrettable. I've sent him away and I _assure_ you he won't be back." She smiled and went in for the kill. "But it _is_ time for you to tell me exactly what happened." The Auror cast a recording charm on the quill. It rose from the table, dipped itself in the ink pot and remained poised above the parchment.

Draco swallowed hard and his hands began to shake. Portman took the glass from him and set it down on the cell floor. She grasped his hands in hers firmly. "Draco? Don't fade on me boy." He looked up sharply at that and she continued. "You can do this. Talk to me. I want to help you. And afterwards you can have a long, long rest." Draco's brow was furrowed and his lips pressed tight together. He gave the barest of nods, and the Auror continued. "Did you intentionally kill Lucius Malfoy?" Draco pulled back slightly, but Portman did not release her hold. "You have to answer now, Draco."

He was so tired. But he knew he didn't deserve to rest. Not after what he had done. "I, I killed him." Draco's voice broke but he forced himself to say it again. "I killed him, I killed him," and it was all he could say. He was sobbing and shaking his head as he repeated his crime over and over.

"Enough. _Finite!_" The Auror let go of Draco's hands to stop the scratching quill.

Draco brought his hands up and raked his nails down his face leaving bright pink welts. He did it again and drew blood.

"Shite!" cursed Portman. "Snap out of it kid!" She grabbed the water glass and threw the remaining contents into the boy's face. It had the desired effect. Draco froze.

"I d-didn't, I, I'm sorry…" he whispered and promptly passed out.

Portman stomped over and pulled the door open. "I need a Healer in here – NOW!" _So much for the 'good cup'_, she thought bitterly

Draco spent the three days before his trial in a Ministry holding cell. It was smaller even than the interrogation room but it contained a cot, an Ever-full water glass and a Never-full chamber pot. Three times a day a surly, middle-aged wizard brought him bread, cheese and an apple, though Draco rarely ate the meager meals.

Draco's entitlement to the Malfoy fortune was in question, so the Ministry had assigned him a solicitor, who visited him once before the trial. It was a brief encounter, consisting mainly of the wizard asking "Is it your intention, Mr. Malfoy, to contest the charge of Patricide against you?" followed by Draco shaking his head.

The rest of the time Draco was left completely alone. For the most part he was unaware of his surroundings, but whenever he dozed off he was thrust from his blissful oblivion by vivid nightmares of Lucius. Lucius on top of him. Squeezing his windpipe – and Draco grappling for anything to hit him with to make his father stop. Sometimes he found the rock, just as it had come to pass, but sometimes he dreamed that he'd found a wand and cast Aveda Kedavra at Lucius. He always woke up screaming.

On the day of the trial, the surly wizard was back, and uncharacteristically talkative. "S'the big day today, eh?" he quipped as he set Draco's tray down at the foot of the cot. "Y'won't be seein the likes o'me after yer trial. The keepers in Azkaban don't got no time fer niceties y'know" he added with a chuckle.

The man's tone grated on Draco. _Shut up. Just shut up and leave already. _But instead, the man snatched up the apple and took a large bite before replacing it on the tray. The Slytherin in Draco's chest reared.

"Are you attempting to imply that this feeble…service you have provided is meant to fall under the category of 'nicity'?" His voice was laced with practiced sarcasm. The man just scowled at him and spit on the floor.

"S'too bad they don't got Dementers n'more. You'd have a shorter time of it at least, eh?" and with that he casually pushed the tray off the cot and left as it clattered to the floor.

Pent up frustration found its way out of Draco in the form of thrusting his fist into the stone wall. It hurt like hell, yet still felt derisory, so Draco slammed his head forward into the wall. He saw spots. _I killed him._ Slam. _I killed him._ Slam. _Mum's gone._ Slam. _Let me die._ Slam. _Please…_

------------------------------

Next, Chapter 10: In The News


	10. In The News

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**A/Ns:**

I hope all my formatting comes through. I justified as a newspaper does and used curior font. But I have a feeling it will be for naught. If so, my apologies.

Many thanks to katzeboston for her wonderful beta work and for her suggestions and help (a gross understatement) in writing some of the articles! Any remaining mistakes are mine...or the Daily Prophet's (they are notoriously sloppy with poor people's names)!

Also, just for fun: look for signs of nepotism at the Prophet…

**Chapter 10: In The News**

_**The Daily Prophet**_

**IS HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED NO MORE?**

_Barnabas Cuffe, Editor-in-Chief_

The Ministry of Magic has confirmed the widespread rumours of The Dark Lord's apparent death. The 'Where', 'When' and 'How' are still clouded in mystery. The 'Who', of course, is none other than Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived – again.

Percival Weasley, the newly appointed spokeswizard for the Ministry, has confirmed that it was, in fact, Harry Potter, who was once again responsible for the reported demise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. "But this time," assured Mr. Weasley, "the Dark Lord is not ever coming back."

This editor has heard that before, and thus remains highly skeptical. Mr. Weasley was unwilling – or perhaps, unable – to provide even the most minimal of details surrounding the Dark Lord's supposed death. In light of this gross lack of information and the Ministry's numerous past transgressions when it comes to sharing information with the public, we at The Prophet are not yet ready to concede that the wizarding world is at last safe from the Dark Lord's magic. On behalf of the witches and wizards of Great Britain, we demand more information on the events surrounding The Dark Lord's end.

**DEATH EATER MALFOY'S SON APREHENDED**

_Barnabas_ _Cuffe, Jr., Senior Correspondent_

Draco Malfoy, son of the late Narcissa (Black) Malfoy and the equally late Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy [whose body was recovered shortly after the Final Confrontation; see page 7 for related article, is in custody in the Ministry of Magic's Magical Law Enforcement department. Gawain Robards, head of the Auror Office for the MLE, has confirmed that the younger Mr. Malfoy was put under citizen's arrest by members of Harry Potter's inner circle. Although Auror Robards declined to release any further specifics, an unnamed source in the department of MLE has suggested that Hermione Granger and Donald Weasley were likely involved in subduing the suspected Death Eater. Mr. Malfoy was formally arrested at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry yesterday and will be scheduled for a trial at the earliest possible date. (_Continued on page 13)_

**THE BOY WHO HID:**

**Still no word on the current location of our saviour**

_Barnabas_ _Cuffe, III, Junior Reporter_

Harry Potter's whereabouts are being kept tightly under wraps by the Ministry of Magic. Mr. Potter has yet to make a public appearance since the announcement of the destruction of the Dark Lord, reportedly at the hands of Mr. Potter.

A gala celebration was held in Mr. Potter's honour at the Ministry of Magic's new _Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Memorial Hall _[See sidebar for details of the unorthodox creation of this monumental construction. The Order of Merlin, First Class, was awarded to Mr. Potter in absentia, to the great disappointment of the numerous dignitaries in attendance. Though several of Mr. Potter's school chums were spotted at the gala, they refused to comment on his whereabouts or on recent speculations about Mr. Potter's poor health.

**MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS STRIKES THE BOY WHO LIVED**

_Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_

It should come as no surprise to you, dear readers, that this reporter has uncovered the tragic breaking news of Harry Potter's unfortunate medical condition. Our beloved saviour has apparently suffered from Irreversible Magical Damage, as a result of his final battle with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. In an exclusive interview just this morning, Minister Rufus Scrimgeour issued the following statement:

Young Mr. Potter knew the risks – I expressed to him my own concerns for his safety as he planned to face Voldemort, but that boy is a hero in every sense of the word. He bravely went forth and vanquished his opponent with no thought for his personal safety. And though there is incontrovertible evidence that he was successful, it is with the deepest regret that I inform you that Harry did in fact sustain certain injuries during the final battle. These injuries have left him in need of some specialized care by experts who fully understand his needs as well as his sacrifice. The wizarding world owes a great debt to Harry Potter, and the best way we can repay it is to allow him the complete privacy he so richly deserves.

Minister Scrimgeour went on to hint that there may be some discussion of guardianship for Mr. Potter. The Minister further confided in me the following:

I have something of a personal interest in this matter. Harry has been like a son to me and I have promised that he will be well taken care of for as long as he has need. I'm sure that your intelligent readers will understand why I would be the best possible choice to manage our Harry's care and protection from misguided well-wishers and friends.

After a thorough investigation at St. Mungo'sHospital  for Magical Maladies and Injuries, this reporter discovered some disturbing details of Mr. Potter's condition. (_Continued on page 3_)

**CUSTODY BATTLE OVER**

'**THE CHOSEN ONE' RAGES ON**

_Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_

The petitions to take custody of the now incapacitated 'Boy Who Lived' continue to pour in to the Ministry of Magic at an unprecedented rate. Seventeen-year-old Harry Potter, also known as 'The Chosen One', and more recently as 'The Vanquisher of the Dark Lord', suffers (as was reported earlier this week by none other than myself) from what St. Mungo's Healers believe to be Irreversible magical damage. Tragically, Mr. Potter's mind was reduced to little more than that of an enfeebled babe during his final battle with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Mr. Potter's aunt, a muggle named Petunia Dursley, had legal custody of the boy until he came of age, however, Mrs. Dursley suffers from a peculiar aversion to all things magical and has been deemed by the newly formed Ministry of Magic's Child Welfare Division (CWD) to be an unfit guardian. Mr. Potter has no other known living relatives, and his godfather, the late outlaw Sirius Black, was the only other person with a legal claim to Mr. Potter's guardianship. The resulting situation: the pitch has been thrown wide open for anyone to petition to care for The Vanquisher. Me, myself and I have indeed joined the ranks of those wishing to care for the wizarding world's greatest hero since Albus Dumbledore. This reporter got an exclusive glimpse of the status of several petitions for Mr. Potter's custody. (_Continued on page 16_)

'**THE VANQUISHER'**

**DODGES WEREWOLF'S SILVER BULLETS**

_Barnabas_ _Cuffe, III, Junior Reporter_

Romulus Lupin, close friend to the late Sirius Black and Lily and James Potter, had his petition for the custody of The Vanquisher of the Dark Lord unequivocally rejected due to his status as a registered Werewolf. As such, Mr. Lupin has been given the classification of XXXXX by the Ministry of Magic Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures' (DRCMC). Arthur and Melly Weasley, who housed Mr. Potter over several school holidays while he was attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, similarly had their petition denied owing to the fact that their son, Bill, has been given the unusual designation of "Half-Werewolf" by the DRCMC. Bill Weasley was recently married to the former Triwizard Tourney Champion from Beauxbatons, Fleur Delacour. The newlyweds were residing with the senior Weasleys but have announced their intention to move to France. Rumour has it that Arthur and Melly Weasley plan to re-petition for custody, though their prospects remain dim.

**UNSPEAKABLE TO TESTIFY IN MALFOY TRIAL**

_Barbara_ _Cuffe, Junior Legal Correspondent_

A Ministry spokeswizard who wished to remain anonymous has stated that the Unspeakable who first discovered Harry Potter's unfortunate condition, will testify in the highly anticipated upcoming trial of suspected Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy is the son of the late Lucius Malfoy, convicted Death Eater. The younger Mr. Malfoy has had a nefarious past and is charged with three counts of attempted murder, conspiracy, endangering the lives of minors, and patricide. Mr. Malfoy is expected to get a life sentence in Azkaban. No word yet on whether Mr. Potter will be in attendance at the trial, though by most accounts he is not expected to make an appearance.

According to the same source, Mr. Malfoy's trial is expected to take place within days or possibly even hours. "Despite [Mr. Malfoy's arrest having happened just the other day, we feel that it is in the public's best interest to address the issue with all dispatch. As a known associate of Death Eaters, the facts are quite clear," said the source.

**SOCIETY OWLS**

_Grizel Hurtz, Society and Advice Columnist_

…Mr. Harry Potter is still under the care of Poppy Pomfrey, the Nurse at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. When asked why Mr. Potter has not yet been transferred to St. Mungo's, Pomfrey had only this to say: "None of your business, nosey parker!" Such an attitude might easily lead one to believe that Pomfrey is overly aggressive and unstable and thus an unsuitable choice to care for our Greatest Hero…

**MINISTRY OF MAGIC'S CHILD WELFARE DIVISION STEPS UP IN APPEAL OF MALFOY CONVICTION**

_Barnabas_ _Cuffe, Jr., Senior Correspondent_

The CWD has announced its intention to represent convicted Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, in an appeal of his sixty-year sentence in Azkaban. A formal request was filed this morning with the Wizengamut to have Mr. Malfoy's case reassigned to the CWD court. Judge Tiberius Ogden released a statement explaining that the appeal is based on the fact that Mr. Malfoy was still a minor when he received the Dark Mark [_see sidebar for more on the mysterious disappearances of the Dark Marks_, and therefore cannot be held accountable for his actions as a Death Eater. According to Judge Ogden, as an underage wizard, Draco Malfoy is not considered by wizarding law to be capable of freely consenting to take the Mark. The CWD further argues that "In light of Malfoy's upbringing – ne, inculcation – by parents who were strong supporters of You-Know-Who, it is likely that young Malfoy was never in a position to feel as though he had a choice in the matter."

On a related note, Bertrand Singh, the Unspeakable who testified in the original trial, recently released a statement to the effect that his testimony on behalf of Mr. Malfoy was grossly misinterpreted to Mr. Malfoy's detriment...

**POTTER'S FATE STILL UNDECIDED AS CUSTODY BATTLE NEARS ITS END**

_Dempster Wiggleswade, Senior Legal Correspondent_

The final date has been set for the custody hearing for Harry Potter. Readers will recall that Mr. Potter, who was recently awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, for his utter defeat of the Dark Lord, suffered Irreversible Spell Damage in the final battle. Mr. Potter, while physically still a healthy seventeen-year-old, now possesses the mind and emotions of an infant.

The entire wizarding world, demonstrating simultaneous joy and sadness at the demise of the Dark Lord and the subsequent permanent injury to our hero, Harry Potter, is fervently hoping for Mr. Potter to find a good home and guardian. There have been many applications for that role, most notably that of our esteemed Minister of Magic himself, Rufus Scrimgeour _[see sidebar for complete list of current applicants, and for a summary of applicants who have already been denied_.

The Daily Prophet has submitted requests for comment to Mr. Potter's friends, most notably Ms. Hermione Granger, Ms. Genevra Weasley and Mr. Ronald Weasley, who were reportedly at his side during the final battle. Unfortunately, all requests for interviews or comments continue to be denied. Minister Scrimgeour, however, when asked to comment on his application for custody of Mr. Potter, stated that he remained cautiously optimistic that he would be recognized as the best possible choice to ensure Mr. Potter's well-being.

**MALFOY SENTENCE OVERTURNED!**

_Winkus Oddpick, Op-ed columnist_

In an unprecedented move, the Wizengamut ruled that Draco Malfoy's sentence of sixty years in Azkaban Prison was unjust. Immediately following the ruling, young Mr. Malfoy was transferred to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries where he will undergo counseling. Rumours have been flying faster than a Firebolt about what sort of treatment Mr. Malfoy will receive. Though a spokeswitch for the hospital denies that Mr. Malfoy will be partially obliviated, an inside anonymous source told this reporter otherwise – and added that the Malfoy boy is currently on round-the-clock suicide watch. It is quite understandable that the board of trustees at St. Mungo's wishes to keep this under wraps. The ethics of obliviating a witch or wizard for medical or mental health purposes are questionable at best. To do so to a once convicted criminal – one who this reporter believes did the Dark Lord's work willingly – seems unthinkable. (_continued on page 42_)

------------------------------

**A/N**: Barnabas Cuffe is the canon editor of The Daily Prophet. ;) Winkus Oddpick and Dempster Wiggleswade are also Prophet writers in canon. Oh how I love the Lexicon!!!

Next, Chapter 11: Trying Times


	11. Trying Times

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**A/N:** Just a general apology to Latin Scholars for the way I surely have butchered the language to make up spell names. ;

Thanks to katzeboston for her continued beta work!

Beta note: It's my fault again! And after I promised to be more timely, too. I got beta-block! Don't blame Tsuj! I've read drafts ahead of a couple of chapters, very interesting stuff is still to come. :-)

**Chapter 11: Trying Times**

Harry slept in the ward for three days straight, only half waking enough to take some fortified potions from a baby bottle. Ginny was usually the one to feed him. Hermione found it painful to watch so she made herself scarce at these times, as did Ron (though neither spoke about it to each other). Ginny showed Harry every kindness; her manner was gentle and loving as she fed him, cleaned his mouth and chin or stroked his face. But her eyes were dull and she refused to make conversation other than that which pertained to Harry's care and wellbeing. Her mother made daily visits from her own station by Mr. Weasley's bedside at St. Mungo's (Mr. Weasley had taken several curses in the DE riots ensuing Voldemort's demise), but even this did little to alter Ginny's demeanor. Hermione couldn't begin to imagine what Ginny was going through. They all loved Harry and felt the loss of him – which was what this was – deeply. But Ginny was in love with Harry. What would Hermione do if it were Ron who had been so afflicted?

In the wee hours on the third day, Harry opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but he was still too weak. The sun had just risen and the first person he saw was Ginny. She was sleeping on a comfy chair by his cot, her feet resting on a pouf. Harry let out a heavy sigh and said sadly, "Nee-Nee."

Ginny jumped at the sound which in turn startled Harry, but he recovered quickly. "Mumma Da-ee?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm sorry, Harry." Ginny swallowed hard and fought to keep her composure. A Child Healer from St. Mungo's had had a long session with Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Madam Pomfrey, Headmistress McGonagall and Hagrid about what to say to Harry regarding his parents. Hermione, of course, had focused all of her energy on reading both Muggle and magical theories of child development and had convinced Ginny that the Healer's approach was best. Be honest. Be concrete. Harry wouldn't be able to really understand what death was or that it was permanent. (Ginny noted the irony in that Voldemort sought to make death impermanent.) Still, she wasn't sure what to say to him and wished for Hermione's sage presence. "I'm so sorry, Harry. They – they're gone."

Harry's lip quivered and his eyes filled with tears. "Mumma…ah dohn?"

Ginny went to Harry's bedside and embraced him. "Yes, Harry. All gone. 'M so sorry." Harry pressed his face into Ginny's shoulder and cried softly. Ginny had absolutely no idea what to do so she just held onto him and rocked him gently back and forth. At last Harry stopped crying, and let his head slide down to his pillow. He reached up and gingerly took a lock of Ginny's hair in his thumb and forefingers. He caressed his wet cheek with the silky strands. Harry's stomach gave a low rumble and he started at the unexpected sound.

"It's okay, Harry. That's just means you're hungry." She smiled at him but his look of despondence remained. "I'll wake Madam Pomfrey and see what we can get you to eat." She felt his eyes follow her as she walked to the end of the ward to knock on the Nurse's door.

Madam Pomfrey was delighted that Harry was up and quickly fire-called a message to Healer Chang at St. Mungo's to tell her the good news and to ask her to come for a reassessment.

Feeding a fully awake Harry was a far messier business than Ginny had anticipated. He didn't want the porridge at first, but once enough treacle was added he eagerly slurped down each spoonful Ginny offered. When she dropped the spoon and bent to retrieve it, she found Harry had decided not to wait. He had grabbed a handful of dripping porridge and brought it to his mouth. His pajama front was covered in a trail of the stuff and when Ginny held his wrist to wipe his hand clean with a serviette, he promptly reached his other hand into the bowl. She quickly realized this was a losing battle and just let Harry have at it. She heard a low chuckle from behind her and quickly turned, eyes flashing.

"You have porridge in your hair," said Ron simply, but her glare wiped the smile from his face. Ginny looked down and sure enough, her brother was right. Harry, meanwhile had plunged both hands into the bowl and upset it so that as he was sloppily putting his mush-covered fingers in his mouth, the remaining porridge spread all over the tray and his blanket. Harry was a complete mess, but in looking at his obvious delight in his feast Ginny couldn't help but laugh too. Ron let out his breath and laughed along with her. It had been a long time since he'd heard Ginny laugh and he missed that sound. His relief was short lived, however, as he realized Ginny's laughter now sounded more like sobbing. "Ginny? Ginny – y-you're crying."

"No I am _not_, Ronald!" she said between sobs.

Ron went to her and awkwardly patted her shoulder. "It'll be alright, Ginny."

"How can it be alright?" Her tears of despair had turned to anger and she let Ron have the brunt of it. "How can _this –_" she hissed and gestured to Harry who was still solely focused on his food "– be alright? Look at him Ron! It's not fair, it's just not fair!" and she burst into tears again and ran from the ward leaving a stunned Ron in her wake. Pomfrey rushed out of her office at the commotion and, spying Harry happily up to his elbows in porridge, gave Ron an accusatory glare.

"Precisely _what_ is going on here, Mr. Weasley?" she bristled.

"Erm, breakfast?" croaked Ron, lamely.

"Humph. I see." Pomfrey removed the tray and now mostly empty bowl from Harry's lap. "Mr. Weasley, please be so kind as to help Harry up. I think a full bath is in order."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," said Ron. Though usually clueless, even he hadn't missed that the usually formal Nurse was using Harry's first name, and wisely, he refrained from commenting to her about it. "Come on, Harry." He pulled down the bedding and reached out a hand to Harry who returned the gesture with a sticky hand of his own. Harry stood unsteadily and fell back to a sitting position on the cot, his hand sliding easily out of Ron's (Ron barely managed to suppress an "Eew" as he wiped his hand off on his pants). Harry promptly turned over on his stomach and slid off the bed to the floor where he proceeded to crawl leaving honeyed hand- and then knee-prints in his wake.

"This won't do at all," said Pomfrey, shaking her head. "_Mobilipuer_," she incanted, raising her wand, and Harry was levitated a few inches off the ground. He looked around in surprise but clearly enjoyed it as the Nurse raised him up a little higher and sent him down the aisle to the bathing room at the back of the ward.

By the end of the bath, Harry was squeaky clean and Ron was covered in porridge residue, soap bubbles and grimy water of questionable content. He tried to help Harry walk back to his bed, but Harry was unable to stay upright – if he was too weak or simply unused to walking Ron wasn't sure. He used the _Wingardiam Leviosa _spell on Harry. The ride was by no means as smooth as the Nurse's and Ron suspected (if Harry's laughter was anything to go by) he enjoyed it all the more for that. When Harry landed with a flump on his cot, he gave a half-hearted sigh at the ride's end.

"Sorry, mate," said Ron. "I need a shower." He called to Madam Pomfrey that Harry was all cleaned and she came out to examine his handiwork.

"Well done, Mr. Weasley, though you appear a little worse for wear. Off with you now," she said not unkindly, and shooed him out of the ward. Harry could barely keep his eyes open; he turned on his side and snuggled under the covers as Pomfrey tucked him in. She had a bottle with a _very_ sweetened strengthening potion ready for him and Harry eagerly accepted it. This time he even reached up to hold the bottle and it pleased Pomfrey immensely to see this sign of progress in her charge. "Good boy, Harry," she said, patting his head. Harry flicked his eyes up to her at the praise but his focus quickly went back to finishing the bottle.

Shortly thereafter, Rose Chang came through the Floo network over from St. Mungo's. She brushed a bit of ash off her lime green robes as she stepped out of the grate in the Nurse's office. Just as Chang entered the ward and called a greeting to her mentor, Headmistress McGonagall burst through the main doors to the hospital wing. She held a crumpled parchment in her hand and her expression was fierce.

"What is it, Minerva?" Pomfrey was accustomed to McGonagall's irritability and not at all put off by it. The recent dealings with the Ministry were causing McGonagall to lose her temper with increasing frequency. As she and Pomfrey had grown closer since Dumbledore's death, Minerva often went to the hospital wing when she was frustrated. Poppy was becoming a staunch confidant and friend. Chang, however, looked quite taken aback by McGonagall's sharp behaviour. She nodded nervously to the Headmistress who returned the greeting with a curt nod of her own.

"This owl post just arrived from the Ministry," McGonagall held up the parchment as if it was made of something vile. She handed it to Pomfrey, who began to read it aloud.

"'An Official Summons from the Ministry of Magic's Child Welfare Division'?" Pomfrey looked up for a moment, shocked. "'Harry James Potter is required to appear tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. for a hearing to determine temporary custody –' The boy is unfit to leave the hospital! He is extremely weak and his emotional state is fragile at best. And what do they mean, 'temporary custody'?"

"This is just the first step in Scrimgeour's attempt to wrest Harry from us. It doesn't surprise me that that manipulating old bag wants to get custody himself. Think what it would do for his image. I'm certain the title 'temporary' is meant to indicate that under the Ministry's 'excellent' care Harry will make a rapid recovery." McGonagall paused and a pained look crossed her face. She was doubtful that Harry would be able to recover. She thrust that thought aside. "Oh, and _this_ came with the summons," Minerva held up a strip of black cloth, a look of disgust on her face. "Scrimgeour insists that Harry be blindfolded in public to 'protect' him and others from potential harm due to his 'uncontrolled magic'."

"Excuse me, Headmistress," Healer Chang began timidly, "But that would be very unwise. Mr. Singh has been kind enough to put some of his experiences with, er, Mr. Potter in a Pensieve to enable us to better evaluate his current condition." Chang shuddered at the horrific memories she had witnessed in the Pensieve. "When he was taken by Lucius Malfoy, he was blindfolded while his scar was viciously cut open. Putting a blindfold on the boy could potentially re-traumatize him."

"I'll send an owl to Scrimgeour, but I'm certain he won't be swayed." McGonagall made no effort to try to hide her contempt for the Minister of Magic. She bade goodbye to the two witches and went back to her office to compose a reply.

"Good morning, Harry," greeted Madam Pomfrey as she turned down his covers. "We're going out for a big ride today." She kept her voice cheerful though her heart was filled with dread. Pomfrey levitated a stretcher beside Harry's cot and she patted the center of it. "Come on up, Harry," she coaxed, and noted how shaky he still was as he slowly rolled over and crawled onto the stretcher. "Here, lie down," she said, patting the pillow and Harry sleepily complied curling up slightly on his side and sucking his thumb absently. Pomfrey transfigured Harry's pajamas into slacks and a jumper and added warm socks to his bare feet. Then she removed the duvet from his bed and covered him up. "There's a good boy. Let's get you tucked in, Harry. We don't want you falling off!" She waved her wand and the edges of the duvet wrapped snugly under the stretcher. Then she grabbed her potions bag and directed the stretcher with her wand out of the ward.

The movement pleased Harry no end and he cooed in delight as they ascended the stairs and his conveyance rose higher. Hearing this caused a smile to tug at the edges of Pomfrey's pursed lips, but it never fully broke. Poppy Pomfrey felt as if she was moving in a trance. Was this what it felt like to be under the Imperius Curse? Here she was, about to participate in something she knew in her heart was just plain wrong. Yet her traitorous feet continued to carry her to the Headmistress' office.

Minerva McGonagall paced in front of her fireplace shaking her head. She couldn't fathom for the life of her how Albus Dumbledore had kept his composure in dealings with the Ministry of Magic. She was fit to burst at Scrimgeour's demand that Harry come to the Ministry for his hearing "secured." She laughed bitterly at the irony of his choice of words, for after being briefed by Healer Chang, McGonagall knew that there was little that could make Harry Potter feel less secure than being blinded in a strange environment. McGonagall vowed that she would not do it –_ Scrimgeour be damned!_ Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the spiral staircase rising. It was time.

"Minerva –" began Pomfrey as she directed Harry's stretcher through the doorway.

McGonagall held up her hand and shook her head. "Poppy, we are going as is. I do _not_ wish to be party to traumatizing this boy further. The hearing, I'm sure, will be bad enough." She reached into the silver bowl on the mantle and closed her fist around a handful of Floo Powder.

Pomfrey's eyes brightened in relief. She blinked several times to clear them and smiled in appreciation at her friend.

"Ministry of Magic," said McGonagall primly, and she glanced at Harry before stepping into the green flames.

Harry's eyes widened as he watched her disappear and he looked worriedly up at Pomfrey. "Pom-fee?" he whispered anxiously.

"It's alright, Harry," the Nurse reassured him. "It's our turn, now. It will be fun, er, like 'uppies'," she added in what she hoped was a cheery voice. Flooing with a patient could be a bit dodgy, but Poppy Pomfrey was an old pro. She cast a steadying spell and put a hand on the edge of the stretcher, tucked her wand into her apron and reached for the Floo Powder.

The great corridor in the Ministry of Magic was crowded with clusters of Ministry workers craning their necks to get a first-hand look at The Vanquisher Of The Dark Lord. All along the wall of gilded fireplaces where Pomfrey and Harry had emerged there was _whoosh _after _whoosh_ heard as witches and wizards continued to arrive. Pomfrey noted that there was no activity at the fireplaces on the wall opposite them – no one wanted to leave and miss the chance to see 'the great Harry Potter'.

Hagrid and Ron were waiting for them and both stepped up to shield Harry, giving menacing looks to the growing crowd. It was Hagrid's sheer size, however, which served as a deterrent and people kept a respectful distance despite their stares.

"Ahgi!" Harry cried happily and reached a hand out to the half-giant.

"'Lo there, Harry," Hagrid sniffed. Being called 'Ahgi' set off the waterworks each time and Hagrid swallowed before grasping Harry's hand in greeting. The movement caused his huge ring of keys to jingle on his belt and Harry's eyes widened, as did his smile, at the shiny, clinking ring. Harry pulled his other hand out from the snug covering and reached out for the keys. This set Hagrid to sniffling again and McGonagall patted his arm and gave him a nod of understanding.

"It's jus' – he used ter love playin' wi' my keys," gulped Hagrid as he handed them to Harry and watched, reminiscing, as the boy eagerly accepted them. They held his complete attention and Harry was blissfully unaware of the many onlookers staring at him – some in awe, some in pity.

McGonagall did not appreciate the crowd's curiosity about their saviour one bit and was keen to leave the corridor. "Where are Ms. Granger and Ms. Weasley?"

"They went down to talk to my dad. It's his first day back at work. Said they'd meet us in the courtroom," provided Ron.

"Well then, shall we?" McGonagall asked and made to lead the way.

"Hang on, Professor. I jes need ter find me hankie." Hagrid proceeded to empty one of his pockets onto Harry's stretcher. Harry stopped playing with the keys to eye the growing pile on his duvet. There was a dried flower corsage, a few crumpled rolls of parchment, the chipped sugar bowl – sans cover (and quite empty to Harry's great disappointment), a little spade and a piece of black cloth that looked familiar to Harry. It was Draco Malfoy's ripped robe sleeve. Harry dropped the keys and snatched the cloth from the jumble. He brought it to his face and took a deep whiff.

"Piddy boy," he said wistfully, and held it against his cheek as he began sucking his thumb. This elicited many gasps of shock from the crowd. At this, Harry took notice of his surroundings for the first time since they'd arrived. He began to charily scan the faces staring at him and he whispered around his thumb, "Pee-bo?"

By this time Hagrid had located his spotted hanky, thoroughly blown his nose and had returned the other items back into his pocket (including the abandoned key ring) while Pomfrey was directing Harry's stretcher after McGonagall so they could register their wands at the security desk.

As the Headmistress handed her wand to the security witch, the lift doors opened down the hall and a dozen or so reporters swarmed out and started shouting questions at the quintet. McGonagall huffed and rolled her eyes saying, "Ignore them," out of the corner of her thinly pressed mouth. This was easier than expected; for due to their attempts to out shout each other, the reporters' questions were completely unintelligible. Madam Pomfrey asked Ron to take over the levitating spell on Harry's stretcher, as she made ready to register her wand.

"_Wingardium Levi-_" began Ron as a particularly shrill voice was heard above the others:

"Mr. Weasley, is it true that your sister is carrying Harry Potter's love child?"

"– os-_waaaaaaaahhhhh_?" shouted Ron in shock. Harry's stretcher soared up toward the high domed ceiling and began to roll. The crowd gasped in horror as one, drawing Ron's attention back to Harry.

Harry was startled by the sudden flight, and Ron could see his white-knuckled fists clutching Draco's tattered sleeve. Harry cried out as the stretcher rolled him higher – thankfully the duvet had been well spelled with a sticking charm and held him securely from toes to chest.

McGonagall, who mercifully had her wand back, shot a "_Finite Incantatum_," which cancelled both the levitation charm on the stretcher and the sticking charm on the duvet. She followed swiftly with a "_Wingardium Leviosa_," aimed at Harry. When the first spell hit, the stretcher began to drop, and Harry began to fall. Someone at the back of the crowd screamed, but before anyone else had time to panic, the second spell hit, catching Harry, who swiftly rose up before slowing and floating gently downwards. His conveyance clattered on the floor and the crowd gasped again. "Hagrid, would you kindly…?" the Headmistress asked as she directed Harry toward the giant's outstretched arms. Ron and Madam Pomfrey rushed to check on Harry as he alighted. His eyes were wide as saucers, though the whole incident had passed in the space of moments. He managed to look both scared and delighted at the same time.

Harry let out a great breath through his nose that sounded suspiciously like a chortle and wearily rested his head against Hagrid's massive shoulder. He looked down at Ron, a lopsided grin plastered on his face. "Moh?" he asked hopefully.

Ron and Pomfrey shared looks of relief, but Rita Skeeter, who had emerged from the murmuring crowd, interrupted them. "Well, Mr. Weasley? Is it true?"

Ron rounded on _The Daily Prophet_'s most devious reporter. His eyes were flashing and his face was bright red. "Sod off, Skeeter! You nearly killed him spouting that bloody rubbish – and don't you EVER speak about my sister you –"

"Mr. Weasley," McGonagall's sharp voice cut him off, though her own eyes were glaring daggers at Skeeter. "We _will_ be going now Ms. Skeeter. I do have two parting words for you: No. Comment."

Skeeter appeared undaunted by this and was about to step forward again when Ron added, "_Bug_ off," with a meaningful scowl.

Skeeter's eyes narrowed and she stepped back into the crowd. McGonagall aimed her wand at the now broken stretcher on the floor and uttered a particularly violent-sounding "_Reparo!_" Pomfrey stepped forward quietly murmuring charms, and the cot floated up to Hagrid, who gently set Harry down on it. The duvet drifted over Harry's form and wrapped itself snuggly around him once again.

"All right, all right. Clear the corridor. This unauthorized gathering is causing a safety hazard." Several security witches and wizards had just come off the lift and began dispersing the crowd. Harry watched all these goings-on with what appeared to be detached interest. He brought Draco's sleeve back up to his face, absently stroking it against his cheek sniffing at it slightly.

The quintet made their way toward the lift as soon as the path had been cleared. They took it to level three and by the time they got off, Harry had snatched one of the Ministry's inter-office memos: a pale violet paper airplane, which struggled valiantly until it escaped his grasp.

The Minister himself was waiting for them at the doors to the courtroom, flanked by two burly looking wizards attempting to look un-intimidated by Hagrid and failing somewhat. Here, too, there were clusters of people hoping for the chance to view their saviour. Scrimgeour's posture stiffened when he saw Harry and he quickly turned his head away. "Headmistress," he growled, "This is absolutely unacceptable. Who knows how many people the boy has affected en route here?"

McGonagall took a deep breath and tried to channel her predecessor. "Minister Scrimgeour, did you not read the reports from Mr. Singh and Healer Chang?" Here she stepped away from Harry and turned slightly to face the crowd. "The last time this boy was blindfolded, Lucius Malfoy viciously attacked him with a dagger. Would you have the saviour of the wizarding world traumatized so again? I should think we owe him a bit more respect and gratitude than that!" Her words had the desired effect; the witches and wizards close enough to hear began buzzing amongst themselves discordantly.

Scrimgeour knew exactly what McGonagall was trying to do, and he was determined to have none of it. He turned to the wizard on his left and spoke quietly to him. The Auror was quite tall and despite his youthful features he had a very no-nonsense demeanour about him. "All right, the rest of you lot," he addressed the remaining witches and wizards. "Clear this corridor at once. Go back to your business – off wi' you, now." He moved off to usher some of the more persistent onlookers out of the area.

As soon as the hallway in front of the courtroom had emptied, Scrimgeour spoke. "Professor McGonagall, I have read and reread the reports and I have personally interviewed both Bertrand Singh and Rose Chang, which is how I have come to the obvious conclusion that they – like you and your entourage – are unfit to participate in the discussion of Harry Potter's guardianship."

"Minister, you have already disqualified the Weasleys and Remus Lupin from having a say in Mr. Potter's future. We are the next closest thing to family the boy has, and we are neither swayed by magic _or_ by political interests when it comes to deciding what is best for Harry Potter."

"I resent that, Professor. And it is quite clear to any onlooker that you are being swayed by Mr. Potter's self-protection spell. As I understand it, this young man has the mind of an infant. Is that not correct?"

"It is, Minister, as you well know," McGonagall replied tartly.

"And as such, he is in no condition to understand or choose what is truly in his own best interests.

"Minister," began McGonagall, but Scrimgeour cut her off.

"Let me finish, Professor, please. You have been exposed to this continuous outpouring of magic and as a result, I fear your opinions are skewered toward Mr. Potter's infantile desires."

McGonagall had to stifle a growl at his patronizing tone. "Even if that were so, Minister," McGonagall shot back. "A child needs to be with those he trusts and those who love _him_ and not his fame."

"Enough!" Scrimgeour roared, exasperated. "Let us allow the court to do its job and decide what is best. _Expeliarté! Obvolvo!_" McGonagall, Pomfrey, and Ron's wands all flew out of their hands, while the duvet on Harry's cot suddenly rose up and covered his head completely. Harry let out a startled exclamation as his world went dark and he began to push at the covers with his hand.

"Minister! Stop this at once!" demanded the Nurse. As she ran to Harry's side, one of Scrimgeour's Aurors stepped in front of her, blocking her path. The other had his wand trained on Hagrid, Ron and McGonagall. They watched helplessly as Harry's stretcher floated through the opening doors of the courtroom and they shut behind him with a loud thud, silencing Harry's frantic cries of distress.

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Next up, Chapter 12: Harry's Second Chance

(_Are you there, reader? It's me, Tsuj…_ If you are real, won't you give me a sign?)


	12. Third Time: More Of A Hex Than A Charm

**Regarding Harry**

**By Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Big baby!Harry. Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**A/N:** Many thanks to katzeboston for her wonderful beta work, and to the HP Lexicon for existing in all its glory.

**Chapter 12: Third Time: More Of A Hex Than A Charm**

Merlin's Balls, he _hated_ that damn ceiling. Plain. White. Plaster. If they were going to go around hexing people with Petrificus Totalus, at least they could make the ceiling interesting.

_Bloody boring view._ Draco fumed helplessly, and although he hated the harsh clanging that accompanied this particular form of Body-Bind, it did mean that someone would be along shortly to release him. He only hoped it wasn't –

The clanging abruptly stopped.

"Oh, no. Not again!"

_Damn it!_ It was. That dreadful Nurse, Euan Ackerley. _A former Hufflepuff, no doubt_, groused Draco.

"Draco, this is the third time this week. You know your privileges are going to be revoked?"

Draco, of course, could say nothing. He was still unable to move and he was furious about that. Yes, there was definitely a reason 'Nurse' rhymed with 'curse'.

"I've a mind to leave you there for a bit," the Nurse threatened.

_NO! _Damn it. He had no control. His eyes began to water, and it was just like that bloody busybody, Ackerley, to notice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, boy-oh. That was a cruel thing to say. _Finite Incantatem._" He waved his wand and as soon as Draco could move again, he closed his eyes and forced back the tears. He took another moment to calm himself before stiffly getting up from the floor. Ackerley reached a hand out to help him but Draco roughly shook it off.

"Don't touch me!" he growled.

"Don't get all huffy with me, young man. You're the one who caused the Petrificus to go off, not me," he said indignantly.

"I didn't _do_ anything!" Draco snapped back.

"Oh really? The proof is in the Petrificus, my dear boy."

Draco flinched at that. "I was just looking out the window. I wasn't going to jump. I just needed to give my eyes a respite from this horrid excuse for decor you have around here." His tone was equally indignant.

"Tell it to the Healer, boy-oh. Let's go. Now." The burly Nurse gestured down the hall, and Draco, jaw tight and fists clenched, walked ahead of him to the lift, which they took down one floor from the Visitor's Tearoom to the newly created Cedric Diggory ward.

St Mungo's had had to open up the new ward on the fourth floor for youths who had survived the war physically intact but suffering from severe non-magical emotional damage. Since the demise of Voldemort, many things in the Wizarding World had begun to change, resulting in the emergence of a greater curiosity about and acceptance of Muggles. Thus, St. Mungo's had begun officially adding Muggle techniques to their conventional medical practices especially with regard to what Muggles called "mental health." Healer Augustus Pye, who had pioneered the use of complementary medicine at St. Mungo's (after a few failed fits and starts in his days as a trainee), was instrumental in creating this ward.

The children therein included witches, wizards, squibs, pure-bloods, half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Daughters and sons of those who had lost their lives in the war or the post-war Death Eater riots, and others whose parents had been Death Eaters themselves. Draco Malfoy was one such patient – and quite a unique case in that he was the only one who had himself been a Death Eater. Some members of the staff were a little fearful of him for that. Not Nurse Ackerley, though.

He took his cues from his supervisor, Healer Perseus Vanes. Vanes was a hard-nosed but effective Healer whose caseload consisted mainly of Slytherins. He was the obvious choice to be Draco Malfoy's case manager.

When he had first arrived at St. Mungo's, Draco had been almost completely unresponsive. The Muggle Healer who worked with him, Dr. Elisabeth Habersham, called it a 'Dissociative Disorder'. Following a few weeks of intense therapy sessions both with Dr. Habersham and with Perseus Vanes, Draco had come out of that phase. Dr. Habersham had said that Draco was making progress in moving from denial to anger, and that in the Muggle world these were typical stages preceding the ultimate goal of acceptance. Nurse Ackerley wasn't particularly fond of the 'anger' stage and his patience with Draco was wearing thin. He thought it prudent to keep silent en route to the Healers. Let them deal with the little prat; he had some Hufflepuffs to coddle.

Draco sat in the reception area scowling and slowly scratching the skin on the side of his hand. As long as he didn't dig deep enough to draw blood he was safe. He'd found that out the hard way earlier in the week. Nobody had bothered to tell him he'd been warded (or 'hexed', as he felt it should rightly be called). They'd placed him under a double warding charm that would petrify him and sound an alarm should he try to harm himself in any way. After he was released from the Body-Bind and all was explained to him, Draco had been furious. The next chance he got he tested the wards. The dinner knife had barely touched his wrist when Draco suddenly found himself face up on the dining area floor, staring at that bloody ceiling. After giving it some thought, he had felt certain that if he 'accidentally' fell out of the owl post window in the Visitor's Tearoom that he would be successful. He had prepared carefully, filling his head with thoughts of Great Horned owls bringing boxes of sweets from Honeyduke's through that window. He tried to Occlude his ulterior motives but it was apparently to no avail. As soon as he got close enough to touch the sill of the window, he was flat on his back – again!

His reminiscing was interrupted by Healer Vanes calling his name.

"Draco, come in and sit down."

As soon as his backside hit the sofa, Draco burst out with, "I didn't _do_ anything! Your warding charms are all screwed up!"

"Draco, do you intend this discussion to be a complete waste of my time and yours? You were warned as to what would happen if you attempted to harm yourself. You cannot fool the charms you were warded with. As long as you are here –"

"I don't want to be here!" Draco shouted vehemently. He couldn't stand this lack of control another moment. His fists were pressed into his thighs in an effort to remain seated and not strike out at the smug Healer before him. He could only imagine what he had been 'charmed' with for _that_ scenario.

"I know it won't help to tell you to calm down. But I do wish you would see the value in doing so, Draco."

Draco just glared at the man, seething.

"Tell me then, Draco, where _would_ you like to be?"

Vanes could see his comment was having the desired effect. He'd caught Draco completely off guard.

"Wh-What?"

"I asked where you would like to be rather than here. A fairly simple question."

Something familiar about the man's tone caused Draco to look up sharply. The Healer just looked dispassionately back at him, awaiting an answer. It _was_ a simple question, wasn't it? Where _did_ Draco want to be? Not Malfoy Manor. It had been confiscated and sold along with all the other Malfoy properties and effects by the Ministry of Magic – ironically enough to help fund St. Mungo's efforts to aid veterans and orphans of the war. Draco had no living relatives on either side of the conflict who would welcome him – a failed Death Eater – into their homes. Draco wished he could go back to Hogwarts; _that_ surprised him. And when he thought about the reason why, he was even more surprised and not a little disgusted: Potter. He wanted to see Potter again.

"Hmm, you never mentioned Potter in our sessions before."

"What?!" Draco looked up at the Healer again, incredulous. In his musings, he had forgotten where he was. "Get out of my head!" he growled, and Occluded his mind. But the almost undetectable presence of the Healer had already gone, leaving behind a puzzlingly familiar trace. Then Draco tried Legilimency on the Healer, but the man was ready for him and Draco hit a blank wall. He growled in frustration.

"You didn't really think you'd be able to get through, did you?"

"Shut up! Just shut up! Why can't you leave me alone? _That's_ where I want to be: ALONE!"

"Your thoughts indicate otherwise," said the Healer, softly. "Why Harry Potter, of all people? It was my understanding that you two had a …highly volatile ongoing rivalry at school."

Why indeed? Draco could feel a prying again at his mind and he attempted to push it out.

"Draco. I won't hurt you. I won't use what I find for any purpose other than to help you. You have my word on that."

Draco looked up miserably. "Why?" he whispered hoarsely. "Why would you want to help me? Don't you know what I am? What I've done?" he choked out.

"I know you better than you think, Draco. Better, perhaps, than you know yourself even. It's alright to be afraid, but you shouldn't have to face it – you _don't_ have to face it alone.

"I do – I am…" Draco leaned forward and cradled his head in his arms.

The Healer watched him silently for several minutes before continuing quietly. "Tell me about Potter. About…Harry." He waited. At last Draco's resolve melted away and he looked up, allowing the Healer entry to his thoughts:

_Harry was worried about him._

_Harry wanted him._

_Harry needed him._

_Nobody__ needed him._

_But Harry did._

_And Draco needed Harry._

_Needed to protect him._

_To comfort him._

_To – __No_

_Needed not to be this evil, soulless Death Eater, who had weakly followed Voldemort._

_And killed his own father._

_Who had no one in the world that he could turn to._

_Who deserved to be alone._

_Who was worthless._

_Who deserved to die…_

Silent tears were streaming down Draco's cheeks and soaking his collar. He shut his eyes tight against them and against the thoughts and memories that the Healer was bringing to the fore. Then, though Draco had not noticed any movement, he felt himself enfolded into an embrace. He stiffened at the contact and tried to shrug it away, but the Healer held fast, pulling Draco up so that his head rested against the man's chest. Perseus Vanes rocked Draco gently until the boy was lulled into a state of peaceful slumber.

"Dragon," he whispered. "I'm sorry you had to go through all this. I'm so sorry I could not protect you."

---------------------------------------------------

Next up, Chapter 13: Harry's Second Chance

Please do feed the author…


	13. Harry’s Second Chance

**Regarding Harry**

**By Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Big baby!Harry, slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**Chapter 13: Harry's Second Chance**

"No! My no yike dat." For perhaps the twentieth time, Harry pushed the spoon away. Ron Weasley was at the end of his rope. He'd been trying to get Harry to eat his dinner for the better part of an hour to no avail. Harry, even in his infantile incarnation, proved to be as stubborn as ever.

Now that he was gaining a bit more strength, Harry was no longer fed in bed. However, reveling in his newfound freedom, he absolutely refused to stay at the table and eat. It had been necessary to seat Harry in an oversized highchair of sorts, complete with safety harness and removable tray. At first, Harry had railed against this, but Madam Pomfrey held firm and waited his tantrums out. On the first day, Harry had cried himself into exhaustion at each meal and Pomfrey had ended up bottle-feeding him in the chair (and Scourgifying the many bowls of mush Harry had flung away). On the second day, once Harry was seated for breakfast and was wriggling unhappily making ready to commence his tantrum, Pomfrey pressed the tip of her wand to her neck and uttered, "_Sonorous_." Then in a stern, booming voice she addressed Harry.

"Harry James Potter, you will stop this at once! I'm sorry you don't like it, but it is time to eat your breakfast. Now stop your fussing and cooperate." It had the desired effect. Harry was quite startled and stopped squirming immediately, staring at Madam Pomfrey owlishly. Pomfrey cast, "_Quietus_," and continued kindly, "After breakfast, if you're a good boy, you can go visit Hagrid. I believe he has some new animals to show you."

At this, Harry tilted his head in thought, bit his lower lip and blinked at the Nurse several times. Then he let out his breath, sat back in his chair and opened his mouth obediently. After that, Harry was very well behaved with Madam Pomfrey. But dinner with Ron was a different story all together. It was as if Harry could smell the lack of authority on him.

"Come on, Harry. Please? You've got to eat this. It's good for you and it's, it's really delicious." Harry did not appear at all convinced. Ron tried unsuccessfully again to deliver a spoonful of food but Harry refused. Earlier in the battle, Ron had taken a mouthful of the mashed potatoes and strained beets to show Harry just how good they were, but he couldn't stop himself from pulling a face. To say they were bland was the beginning of an understatement, and there was a hint of vitamins in them as well. Madam Pomfrey fortified all of Harry's food and drinks, as it was nearly impossible to get him to take potions. She had also had to curtail his sugar intake. Harry had a raging sweet tooth and once he got a treat he whinged and wailed for more. It was never enough and made him quite cranky besides.

Ron knew all of this but was feeling quite desperate by this point. "Harry, if you eat this, I'll get Dobby to bring you treacle for pudding." Although he feared Madam Pomfrey's wrath over breaking the 'no sweets at night' rule, Ron feared more what the Nurse would have to say if she came back and Harry hadn't eaten his dinner.

Harry pursed his lips together, his eyes flitting from the mush-filled spoon to Ron's earnest face. Then he glared at Ron and opened his mouth. Ron began to feed him silently; afraid anything he might say would cause Harry to change his mind. By the third bite though, Harry had stopped his scowling and let his eyes wander absently. He watched an owl fly by the window out in the twilit sky. Soon he'd emptied the bowl and looked expectantly at Ron.

"Teacle?"

"Yeah, mate. Dobby? Could you bring up a small bit o'treacle for Harry's pudding?" Ron called to the air. A moment later, the house-elf appeared with a 'pop', promised treat in hand.

"Dobby teacle!" exclaimed Harry, banging his hands on his tray and kicking his legs out in excitement. "Mmm!"

"Yeah, Harry. _Dobby_ treacle," said Ron, doing his best to encourage _that_ association. If Harry said anything to Madam Pomfrey about the treat, Ron might just get off the hook. He said it again for good measure, "_Dobby_ treacle. Say, Dobby? Why don't _you_ feed that to Harry?"

"Dobby, sir? Feed Harry Potter? It would be an honour!" The little house-elf's impossibly huge eyes grew even larger as he vanished the empty dinner bowl away and placed the pudding in front of Harry. Harry made humming sounds of contentment with each sweet mouthful and made short work of finishing the treacle. Yet it still didn't seem fast enough to Ron. He was petrified of Madam Pomfrey coming back to find this transgression. Ron breathed an audible sigh of relief when Harry swallowed his last mouthful of the pudding. He grabbed the bowl from Harry's tray, and shoved it at Dobby.

"Thanks, Dobby. You can go now. Bye."

Dobby was a bit surprised (and not at all pleased) at being dismissed so perfunctorily. "Wouldn't Harry Potter like more," he asked slyly.

Harry's face lit up and Ron slapped his hand to his forehead. "No Dobby. No more. Please, just go!"

"Very well Master Weasley. Goodbye Harry Potter, sir." And with another 'pop', he was gone.

As quickly as Harry's face had lit up it fell. "Moh teacle?" he asked, his brow furrowing and his hands balling up into fists.

"Erm, uh, all right there, Harry, all done eating! Time to get ready for bed." But just as Ron feared, Harry had other ideas.

Harry banged his fist on his tray, pleading, "Moh teacle, Non-Non. Peeease? My _yike_ teacle."

Ron could feel the panic rising in his chest in the face of one of Harry's full-blown tantrums. He quickly removed the tray from Harry's chair and unfastened the safety harness, but Harry made no move to get down. Then Ron had a sudden flash of inspiration.

"Tell you what, Harry, how about if we play 'Catch the Snitch' a bit before bed?" This suggestion had the desired effect and Harry slid down off the chair and crawled toward the door. "No, Harry. It's too late to go outside, we'd better play in here," Ron said, suddenly realizing the inherent flaw in this strategy. _Chess against Shacklebolt is easier than this_, he thought grimly. But before he had time to worry further about the havoc they might wreak playing Quidditch inside, the door opened and in walked Madam Pomfrey.

"Pomfee!" cried Harry happily. "My doe pay sitch now!"

Ron froze and gritted his teeth together, awaiting the Nurse's explosion.

"Mr. Weasley," she began evenly, "Do I understand Harry correctly? That he is expecting to play with a snitch at this late hour?" Her gaze was steely and Ron swallowed nervously before he could find his voice.

"Erm, well I – he wouldn't – I mean, I couldn't get him out of the chair. So I thought…maybe just a quick game?" he finished meekly.

Harry watched this exchange with interest. Sensing that his fun was in danger of being cancelled, Harry prepared himself to dig his heels in. He needn't have bothered.

To everyone's surprise – even her own ­ Pomfrey acquiesced. "Very well. But just for a short time, mind – and play in the hallway. I don't want my belongings smashed by two gangly boys. Go!" she added, when Ron continued to stare at her, dumbstruck.

Pomfrey watched with sadness as the two went out the door. Harry crawling and Ron walking after. She imagined it must be very painful for Ronald Weasley to loose his best friend this way. She was very impressed – though not at all surprised – by his fierce loyalty and devotion to Harry. Even though Ronald was, to put it mildly, inept at disciplining his once best mate (the tell-tale treacle had been evident around Harry's mouth), he had the best of intentions at heart. More than ever, Pomfrey truly appreciated how well the 'old' Harry had chosen his friends. He had a trio of constant visitors in Ron, Hermione and Ginevra.

As the door closed behind the boys, Pomfrey sank into a chair and sighed. She looked around her once-tiny quarters and marveled at the many changes her life had seen in recent weeks. Upon returning from the custody hearing at the Ministry of Magic, Pomfrey had found that Hogwarts, in its own inimitable way, had expanded her home to suit the needs of her new charge. Her dining and living areas had doubled in size and a nursery had been added off of her bedroom, complete with a play area, baby toys and an over-sized crib-like bed for Harry.

_I never thought I'd raise another_, she mused. A lifetime ago Pomfrey had born and raised two children of her own, a girl and a boy. Abruptly she laughed aloud to think of how silly she had been to worry about what her grown children would have to say about her current situation. They had, in fact, been quite supportive in their owls from their homes in New Zealand and America, but she was still sort of glad they were too far to pop in and see her like this. Pomfrey shook her head. She had work to do. She had been given a great responsibility. It was an honour and a privilege to be named caregiver to Harry. Pomfrey still couldn't believe it was true, after so much had gone so very wrong in the world, that this, most important thing, had gone right. Harry Potter was being given a second chance at a happy life. He deserved no less for the self-sacrifice he made to save the wizarding world.

Pomfrey sighed at the thought at how much Harry had suffered in his short life; first with the loss of his parents, then at the hands of his vile relatives. And when he was finally freed from their abuse and neglect, he found himself under the heaviest burden imaginable: a Prophecy foretelling that he must stand against the greatest evil in the world in order to save everyone and everything in it. Still worse, it was 'kill or be killed', and this poor, long-suffering orphan, rather than sinking to the depths of despair, rose to the challenge with bravery and determination. _And what price did he pay?_ thought Pomfrey bitterly. _To be incapacitated_. Harry Potter had, in mind only, returned to infancy, only to be attacked once again – this time by the miscreant, Lucius Malfoy.

And then, even those supposedly on the side of the light – such as that blasted, arrogant blowhard, Rufus Scrimgeour – had traumatized Harry. But at least, the Minister had been stopped. Pomfrey had not been permitted to enter the courtroom with Harry, as petitioners for guardianship were not allowed to be present during his interview. But Rose Chang had been assigned to attend Harry, and thus she had been in the courtroom when he arrived. She had filled Pomfrey in on what had transpired before the Hogwarts' Nurse was summoned to take the stand. It broke Pomfrey's heart to think of it again. She wished she could Obliviate those events from Harry's memory – ethics be damned – but with the damage his brain had already sustained, it was far too risky.

The last she remembered of Harry before Scrimgeour had taken him away was the outline of his hands scrabbling at the duvet covering his head and his desperately calling her name.

_Two Weeks Prior_

_Dark!_ "Hm? Hmmm!" Harry was sucking his thumb and pushing with his other hand at the sheet over his head. It wasn't coming off and he began to panic. "Uh! Uuuuhhh! Pomfee? Pomfee!" Soon he was frantically hitting, punching and scratching at the covers with both hands trying to get free, but his attempts were all in vain. His arms tired quickly and dropped in exhaustion. He began to cry desperately, "M-Mumma, Mummaaa…"

"Minister Scrimgeour, what is the meaning of this?" demanded Tiberius Ogden, the magistrate sitting at the center in a row of five judges. "Release him at once!"

"Tiberious," began Scrimgeour in a placating tone, "surely you have read the report on Mr. Potter's uncontrolled magic? I'm simply trying to protect the integrity of this court and the boy's best interests. Your Honours must remain shielded from his gaze in order to render an objective decision."

Tiberius Ogden was known as the Wizengamut's foremost proponent of children's rights. In fact, when the previous Minister, Cornelius Fudge, had authorized decrees designed to wrest Albus Dumbledore's authority at Hogwarts, Ogden had resigned his post in protest. Like many of his colleagues, Ogden was reinstated once Rufus Scrimgeour took office. Naturally, when the Wizengamut had determined there was a need for a separate specialized judicial body to handle the large number of war orphans, they had unanimously elected Ogden to sit on the bench with four other judges. If the new Minister thought he could curry favours from Ogden for his reinstatement, he was very much mistaken; Ogden was a strictly 'by-the-scroll' wizard. It was his job to lead the court, present law, question the children and potential guardians (his skill as a Legilimens was invaluable in these endeavours), make recommendations and break tied decisions when necessary. Ogden had always found that the placement of orphaned muggleborns and squibs was a particularly delicate and difficult matter, but this paled in comparison to the weighty task of determining the guardianship of Harry Potter.

"You have no authority in this court, _Minister_ Scrimgeour," began Ogden, enunciating Scrimgeour's title meaningfully. "'_Finite_' that '_Incantatum_' posthaste or you will find yourself in contempt."

Scrimgeour's face reddened. He clenched his jaw and folded his arms defiantly over his broad chest. He knew he had just blown any chance of getting custody of The Boy Who Lived – which would have been politically advantageous, to say the least. But he would be damned if he let some newly appointed child welfare magistrate defy his position. "My authority, your 'Honour', is not the question here. I have a sworn duty to protect the witches and wizards of Great Britain. Their greatest hero since Albus Dumbledore needs my protection more than ever. If –"

"Oh for th'sake a' Morgana –" cut in Healer Chang, and she conjured four free-standing hospital screens around Harry's stretcher. "Please Your Honour, he's frightened near to hysteria. Let me administer a calming draught."

"You are…Healer Rose Chang of St. Mungo's Sensing Division?" Ogden asked, checking a parchment in front of him for reference.

"Yes, Your Honour. I was the Healer called by Madam Pomfrey to attend Harry Potter when he first returned to Hogwarts – so I've already been 'exposed'," Chang finished with a glare towards Scrimgeour.

"Ah, yes. That is indeed why you were chosen to tend to Mr. Potter during these proceedings. I think it best to let you do your job, then. Thank you, Healer Chang," He smiled warmly at her and turned to Scrimgeour. "Minister, if you have no further objections? This is a closed session. Your presence as a petitioner is not permitted at this juncture. You will be summoned to testify in due time."

"_Finite Incantatum_." Scrimgeour growled his spell as he spun on his heel and exited the courtroom.

"Please proceed, Healer Chang," Ogden ordered. Chang noted that he was shaking slightly from his encounter with Britain's most powerful official. She was grateful to see that he would not put up with any posturing – even from the Minister of Magic himself. It boded well for Harry. Chang grabbed her potions bag and slipped between the screens to Harry's side. She peeled back the now unresisting duvet to reveal Harry, shaking, his face red and wet with tears and his hair plastered down with sweat. In his hands he clutched a black cloth, fists held protectively in front of his scar. His eyes – those 'feared magically rampant' green orbs – darted around wildly.

"Puh-puh…Pom-fee," he managed to gasp out before dissolving into sobs.

"It's alrigh', Harry," whispered the Healer. "I'm not gon'ta hurt you. _No one_ is gon'ta hurt you ani'more," and Chang looked over the top of the screen up to the judge's bench, her lips pressed together in determination. When she returned her gaze to Harry, her features softened. "Remember me, Harry? I'm Madam Pomfrey's friend, Rose," she said kindly as she gently placed a hand over Harry's clenched fists. His sobs had subsided and he was breathing erratically through his nose, but he shed new tears at the mention of Pomfrey. Still, he allowed the Healer to lower his shaking hands.

Next, Chang took a baby bottle from her bag and poured a small amount of the calming draught into it. She added some sweetener and closed the bottle, swirling the contents together before holding it out to Harry.

_Pom-fee, where?_ Harry looked around, he could see white screens and the dark domed ceiling high above him, and there was a familiar woman standing over him, smiling. She held a bottle to him. He kept his lips pressed together, but when the smiling woman began to stroke his cheek Harry lost his resolve and eagerly took the nipple into his mouth.

The potion took effect immediately; Harry's breathing slowed and his eyelids drooped. He stopped sucking and just watched Chang through glassy eyes. She stroked his cheek again to get him to drink more and he did. The Healer had to do this several more times to get him to finish the potion. When it was done, Harry's breathing was calm and even. As the judge next spoke, Harry's eyes traveled lazily in the direction of the new voice.

"Healer Chang, may we proceed?"

"Yes, Your Honour. Thank You."

Ogden began the session by using Legilimency on Harry from just outside the screens to find memories of Harry's experiences with each of the petitioners. It had been somewhat unpleasant at times, but not so on the whole. Harry seemed more fatigued rather than anything else by the invasion into his mind.

When he had finished, the judge told Harry, "All done now, Harry. You can go with Rose now and have a rest." Harry's lower lip trembled slightly as Ogden reached between the screens to give Harry a light pat on the arm.

Harry sniffed and clung to his covers, whispering, "Pomfee?" as he was floated away. Then Ogden dismissed Chang and sent her and Harry to wait in the private nursery, while he and the other judges went into the Pensieve Chamber to review the evidence.

When the judges were ready for them, the bailiff had come to fetch Madam Pomfrey, Rufus Scrimgeour, Nymphadora Tonks, Augusta Longbottom and their numerous character witnesses into the courtroom. Once everyone was seated, Ogden continued the session.

"It is the sacred duty of this court to protect underage and incapacitated witches and wizards. Ladies and gentlemen," he next addressed the other judges seated on either side of him. "As we hear from the four qualifying petitioners for the legal guardianship of Harry Potter, I urge you not to think of this child as 'The Boy Who Lived and Vanquished the Dark Lord'. Rather, keep in the forefront of your minds that the decision we make today will seal the fate of a ward of the court. An innocent boy whose future rests entirely in our hands…"

What followed was a series of interviews with the petitioners and their character witnesses. Madam Pomfrey was the first one summoned. She calmly answered the questions from Ogden for the better part of an hour. Then he asked something completely unexpected.

"Madam Pomfrey, could you explain to the court why you did not submit your petition for custody until the last allowable day? Did you – and do you now – have reservations about your ability to undertake the long-term care of Mr. Potter?"

"I have none whatsoever!" She began. "I simply believed that – under the current administration – someone in my position would have little chance of being appointed guardian to Harry." The usually stoic Nurse had to pause and clear her throat as her emotions threatened to derail her. "But I realized I had to at least try."

"What do you say to the charge that as you have been repeatedly exposed to Mr. Potter's incidental magic, you should be disqualified as a candidate for guardianship as you would be incapable of making objective decisions regarding his welfare?"

Pomfrey paused. She believed that the outcome for her petition rested solely on her next testimony. She fought to remain calm, for she had to choose her next words with care – for Harry's sake. "With all due respect, Your Honour," she began, "I have been a Nurse at Hogwarts for nearly sixty years, and in that time I have seen and treated every injury and malady imaginable for a child to have. I act no differently to Harry in that regard, though, while I care for all the children in my charge, I must admit that my feelings for Harry have become more than that of school Nurse to pupil. I would raise him unquestionably as one of my own.

"While I have been – as you say – 'exposed', I have not found it to have clouded my judgments in any way. I have raised two of my own children, and there is a way in which each child 'bewitches' his or her parents – yet many parents are still able to do what is best.

"As the primary caretaker of Harry Potter since his injury a fortnight ago, I have consistently done what is best for him – even in instances where he may not have been pleased by my decisions. I have established a consistent routine of healings, potions, rest times, recreation and rehabilitation." Here, Pomfrey paused again, furiously blinking back unwanted tears, "Hasn't this boy suffered enough? He knows me. He trusts me. On my honour as a witch and a Nurse I have sworn an oath to let Harry Potter truly 'live', and to help ensure he has the happiness he is entitled to." Pomfrey was shaking and she clutched the banister before her for support.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. You may step down," Ogden said kindly. The Nurse stiffly walked down the three steps and back to her seat, looking straight ahead and meeting no one's gaze, and the rest of the session was a blur to her. Pomfrey was vaguely aware of Neville Longbottom's testimony about his grandmother's strict and somewhat harsh methods of childrearing. When the court recessed so that the judges could convene to make a decision, Pomfrey refused to leave, despite McGonagall's persistent urgings that they go out to stretch and get some refreshments. Pomfrey was in such a state that she barely registered that the judges had returned. But she became fully alert when the magistrate announced they had come to a decision, and she nearly lost her composure when Ogden appointed her, Poppy Pomfrey, as the legal guardian of Harry James Potter. The resulting noise in the courtroom was nearly deafening.

After they arrived back at Hogwarts following the court session, Pomfrey stood by Harry's crib watching him sleep. Rose Chang had given Harry a dreamless sleep potion to stave off the aftereffects of the magistrate's Legilimency. When he finally woke, Harry was unusually subdued, as if he wasn't certain of what was reality. This was what Pomfrey had been warned to expect and she was ready with kind words of reassurance.

"We're home now, Harry," Pomfrey told him, and though she wasn't sure how much he could comprehend she continued, "This is your home now, Harry. With me. No one will ever take you away from here again. No one will ever hurt you again. You're safe, Harry. You're home, dear." Harry blinked slowly at her and then his eyes closed as he fell back into a deep slumber.

Next time, Chapter 14: Why Ever Would You Think A Pet Jarvey Was A Good Idea?

Comments welcomed (understatement) ;)


	14. Why Ever Would You Think A Pet Jarvey Wa

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

A/N: The jarvey and the moke both come from JKR's _Mythical Beasts_ book. Little did I know that the moke would make a posthumous appearance in DH. As a vegetarian, I can't say as I liked this…poor moke 

**Chapter 14: Why Ever Would You Think A Pet Jarvey Was A Good Idea?**

Harry continued to make steady progress under Madam Pomfrey's tender yet firm care. His stamina increased slowly, and it was discovered quite by accident one afternoon when Bertrand Singh had come by for a visit that this was in direct proportion to the incremental fading of Harry's self-protection spell.

"Madam Pomfrey, it is a tribute to your excellent care that Harry is doing so well," beamed Mr. Singh. "I am so happy for you and Harry that the court saw fit to put him in your capable hands." Mr. Singh's mother was a Muggle lawyer, and growing up Singh had heard many horror stories of court decisions gone awry.

Pomfrey actually blushed at this praise. "Oh, tosh," she said with a wave of her hand. "Harry's always been resilient."

"You do yourself a disservice, Madam. Please don't belittle your great work," entreated Singh. He promised to return the following week to check on the status of Harry's incidental magic, and when he did, it was with a beaming smile that he delivered his report: Harry's outpouring of magic was down to the merest trickle. "I expect in another week or two to find no trace of it whatsoever. Congratulations, Madam Pomfrey," and here Singh bowed deeply to the Nurse. "Your guardianship is sheer magic," he said with a wink.

Mr. Singh was quite right. In two weeks' time there was no sign of Harry's incidental magic. At Madam Pomfrey's request, Mr. Singh submitted a full report on this to Tiberious Ogden and Rufus Scrimgeour – in the hopes that it would get the latter to leave Harry alone.

Pomfrey and Harry followed a strict routine during the week. After breakfast, washing up, and an hour of playtime, they went to St. Mungo's where Harry had healing sessions for mind and body. St. Mungo's had added some complimentary Muggle techniques to their traditional practices, and it was decided (after much heated debate) that Harry's unique condition called for such highly unconventional treatments. Madam Pomfrey was reluctant to agree to the still-controversial therapies, but in the end, she acquiesced (with more than a little nudging from Healer Chang and Mr. Singh). Harry had physical therapy with one Madam Nesbit, a squib who had found a happy niche at St. Mungo's. She worked on strengthening and stretching Harry's muscles and building up his stamina to improve his motor skills. This usually exhausted Harry and he took a late morning nap before lunch in a private room at the hospital. After lunch he had a session with a psychic/psychology specialist, Mr. Brookes, a wizard who put Madam Pomfrey in mind of Arthur Weasley due to their shared fascination with all things Muggle. (Mr. Brookes had attended a Muggle university and actually lived as a one of them for five years. He had written a memoir on his experiences, Muggle Like Me, which was still on the bestseller list at Flourish and Blotts.) Harry liked this part of his day at St. Mungo's best because Mr. Brookes had lots of toys to play with and he even let Harry make a mess painting and playing with clay.

After this session, Harry returned to Hogwarts for an afternoon nap. The rest of his day was spent with Madam Pomfrey, and often with Ginny, Ron or Hermione, who were Harry's regular and most frequent visitors. They would read to and play with Harry and often stayed for dinner.

One night over dinner, when it was just the two of them, Pomfreywas re-reading the latest progress report on Harry from Madam Nesbit. Nesbit had been steadily working with Harry on his motor skills and was concerned by his lack of progress in certain areas. Specifically, she had written that in their last session, Harry had refused to even try to stand up and take steps.

"Harry?" began Madam Pomfrey solemnly, "Madam Nesbit tells me you are not being very cooperative with her." Harry said nothing, continuing to eat and avoiding Pomfrey's gaze.

"Harry, look at me." Pomfrey had her no-nonsense voice and Harry was immediately compelled to look up. "Don't you want to walk like a big boy, Harry? Think of all the fun you could have playing 'catch the snitch' with Ron and Ginny –"Pomfrey stopped abruptly as Harry's eyes filled with tears. The Nurse got up and went to grasp his hands in hers. "What is it, Harry?"

Harry just shook his head and screwed up his face trying not to cry. Pomfrey vanished his tray and helped him up from his chair. Harry stood momentarily. Meeting Pomfrey eye to eye, Harry threw his arms around her neck and hugged her. The force of this caused Pomfrey to falter slightly and Harry recoiled at this, falling to his knees and hiding his face in his hands. Pomfrey got down on the floor and wrapped her arms around Harry's shaking form.

"Harry, Harry, it's okay," she soothed. Pomfrey could just barely hear him whisper between shuddering breaths:

"M-m-my…too…b-big, my too big."

"Oh, Harry, wherever did you get _that_ idea?" She was going to have to talk to Brookes and Nesbit about this.

Harry stole a quick look and lowered his eyes. "Pomfee not…hold Ha-ee," he whispered so softly that the Nurse almost did not hear.

"You are most certainly _not_ too big, and I would take care of you even if you towered over me like a giant." At this, Pomfrey had a sudden realization. She lifted Harry's chin and met his eyes. "Hagrid is not too big, either, Harry. I know he sometimes says he is, but he is quite mistaken about that. I'm going to see if he can come up and see you tonight. If not, we can go visit him tomorrow. It's Saturday, so no St. Mungo's. You'll see it's good to be a big boy."

Harry just blinked at his caretaker and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes and wordlessly pulled out a fresh hanky from her apron pocket. She cleaned the smear that was now across his cheek and _Scourgified_ the mucus from his sleeve. "Why don't you go play for a bit while I send Hagrid a quick owl?"

Hagrid's reply came back within the half hour that he was not available that night, but that he'd come by and fetch Harry first thing after breakfast.

Harry was sitting on the sofa looking at one of his favorite picture books, My First Book Of Magical Creatures, when Hagrid arrived. He looked up at Hagrid for a moment, and bit his lip pensively before returning to his book.

"Mornin' Harry, Madam Pomfrey," Hagrid greeted them cheerily.

"A word in private, if you would, Hagrid?" The Nurse motioned Hagrid to follow her to the kitchen and she closed the door, adding a silencing charm so Harry wouldn't hear them.

"Thank you for coming, Hagrid. I have a most serious matter to discuss with you. Please, sit down." With that, she transfigured a kitchen chair into a larger version of itself. As Hagrid sat down, Pomfrey settled in the chair adjacent to his. "I've exchanged several owls last night with the Healers at St. Mungo's. Harry's been in a right state and they tell me he is making very little progress in learning to walk. Mr. Brookes believes Harry is in need of some…additional coddling – Now don't look at me that way, Rubeus! I know that's not my usual method," the Nurse said sternly. "But Mr. Brookes feels that Harry is in danger of contracting some Muggle disorder called 'Failure To Thrive', due to a lack of adequate care."

"Lack of – tha's rubbish, tha' is! You've done a fine job wi' Harry. How can they say that?" Hagrid shook his head in disbelief.

"It's not that, Hagrid. In Harry's mind, only a few weeks have passed since he was little and held and carried about. Now he finds himself without his parents and without the type of care they gave him. It is a very difficult adjustment to make, and you are in a unique position to help – if you take my meaning, Rubeus?"

Hagrid did not, so he just squinted at the Nurse in the hopes that her meaning would become clear momentarily.

"Babies need to be held, carried and cuddled, and suddenly, no one is able to do this for Harry due to his 'new' size. Hagrid, you are the only person capable of coddling Harry in the manner he requires. We need your help."

"Erm, oh! Oh, a'course, Poppy. Poor little Harry –"

"Hagrid – Rubeus. I'm not sure you realize what I am asking of you. This is more than just a lift up here and there. I, that is, Harry, needs you to be a regular part of each day. It's quite a commitment. If you agree, Mr. Brookes and Ms. Nesbit would like to meet with you and give you some formal training on the best ways to help Harry. And perhaps you could accompany Harry in sessions with Madam Nesbit."

Hagrid was silent for a moment. His eyes were suspiciously bright and when next he spoke, his voice was a bit choked. "Poppy, you know there's nothing I wouldn' do fer our Harry. It's – he's… just Harry," he said by way of explanation.

Pomfrey reached up and patted the great man's arm. She was holding back her own tears and simply nodded her thanks. Then she pulled her apron straight, took a deep breath, ended the silencing charm, and breezed out the door back to the sitting room. Hagrid followed behind.

"Morning, Harry. Fine book yeh got there. What say we go ter my place an see some _real_ creatures?"

Harry looked up hopefully at Madam Pomfrey who nodded her consent.

"C'mon Harry, up y'get." Hagrid reached out and pulled Harry up from the sofa gently. He held on to Harry's arm to steady the teetering youth. "Well, well," said Hagrid in an exaggerated voice of pride, "Look at what a fine big lad yer becomin!"

At this, Harry's face fell and he looked away from Hagrid.

"Oh now, none o'that, Harry. Up y'get," and Hagrid hoisted the surprised boy into his arms. "We're goin t'have a lot o'fun t'day, Harry. No long faces."

As they turned toward the door and bid farewell to Madam Pomfrey, Harry snaked his arms about Hagrid's neck and leaned his head on the man's massive shoulder, a faint smile on his lips.

"Wait!" called Pomfrey, all businesslike once again. "You need to take his bag. There's an extra nappy in there – which I'm _sure_ you won't need, Hagrid," she added at the look of panic on the half-giant's face. "They're self-cleaning. His bottle is in there, too, and I've spelled it to ring at ten – make sure he drinks the entire contents. He usually takes a nap after that. His, er, security blanket is in there as well."

At this, Harry popped his head up and said brightly, "My Day-co seeve! My want dat, Pomfee."

"Oh, very well, Harry," sighed Pomfrey as she rummaged through the bag and pulled out Draco Malfoy's tattered black robe sleeve and handed it to Harry. He brought the dark cloth immediately to his face and took a reassuring whiff. He stroked it with his fingers while he sucked his thumb. With his other arm still around Hagrid's neck, Harry leaned his head back down on the half-giant's shoulder, the very picture of contentment.

Tears sprang unbidden to Pomfrey's eyes at the sight. She cleared her throat briskly and shouted a few more instructions after the retreating duo, "There's an extra jumper in there if it gets chilly, and don't overtire him…"

The walk to Hagrid's was a pleasant one, with Hagrid chatting amiably about the sights and sounds along the way and the current menagerie he had housed in the new pens he'd built behind his hut. "…an I think yer gonta like that one. Now I've also got a Jarvey, oh. Bu' maybe we'll keep you away from that one, Harry. She means well, but she's a bi' rude…"

Harry, for his part, was not particularly listening to Hagrid's words, rather he was lulled to a sleepy state by the soothing rumblings of the half-giant's voice and the slight bouncing motion from his gait. Thus, Harry had quite a start when Hagrid suddenly plopped him down on a patch of grass, announcing, "Here we are, Harry! Whaddaya think?"

Harry blinked several times and looked around to get his bearings. His eyes widened as he recognized a creature from the book he'd been looking at that very morning. He pulled his thumb out of his mouth and pointed excitedly. "Yook, Ahgi! Dat a Ippagiff!" He cried.

"Right y'are, Harry!" Beamed Hagrid. "Tha's uh, Witherwings. You won' remember him, Harry, but he knows yeh."

Harry crawled closer to the largest pen, dragging Draco's sleeve along the ground as he went.

"Whoa, wait there, Harry," Hagrid called and bent low to put a staying hand on Harry's shoulder. "Y'have t'bow to a Hippogriff firs' and if he bows back, then y'can pet him. Up y'get." Hagrid raised Harry to his feet and held him steady while demonstrating the proper bow. "Like this, Harry."

With a little help from Hagrid, Harry made a wobbly bow. But it was clearly good enough for Witherwings, for the creature gave his own elegant bow in return.

"Well done, again, Harry!" clapped Hagrid and as soon as he let go, Harry fell back on his rump. Hagrid experienced a bittersweet moment as he recalled the first time he had introduced Harry to the Hippogriff, then called 'Buckbeak'. He didn't have time to dwell on it though, for in a flash, Harry was off and crawling toward a row of small cages where Hagrid kept his recuperating creatures. The first cage Harry came to contained a large, weasel-like creature.

"Le's skip tha' one, Harry. I don' think Madam Pomfrey would thank me fer introducin' yeh t'a jarvey." But it was too late. Harry was reaching his hand into the cage before Hagrid could stop him. Something else stopped him, though.

A shrill voice shouted suddenly, "What are _you_ looking at, you little baby?" causing Harry to draw his hand back in surprise.

"Now, Harry, she don' mean nuthin' by it. Tha's jus' how jarvey's talk." If Hagrid expected Harry to burst out crying he was quite mistaken.

Harry looked up at Hagrid, eyes shining and a huge grin on his face. "My yike dat darvey!" he said, almost worshipfully.

"Well, uh, le's jus' see if we can find sommat else y'like, too." He picked Harry up and carried him to a bench on which there was a small carton with holes in the top. "Now I been savin' this special fer you, Harry." Hagrid opened the carton to reveal a silver-green lizard. "It's a moke, Harry. Go on, touch it. He won' hurt yeh."

Harry reached a hand into the carton and tentatively stroked the lizard's scaly back. Suddenly it shrank to half its size.

"Oh!" exclaimed Harry and he gave a little laugh.

The rest of the morning was spent with Hagrid introducing Harry to the various animals in his care. There were several owls recuperating from exhaustion (the Weasley's owl, Errol, was among them, and Hagrid was strongly recommending that the family retire him) and one with a broken wing. In an unprecedented show of sense, Hagrid had decided not to show Harry some of the more dangerous creatures (at least those deemed dangerous by his unique standards) and had – with difficulty – removed them to another area of the forest. And Fang, Hagrid's cowardly-but-lovable boarhound was thrilled to see Harry again. Hagrid was a bit worried that the dog might overwhelm Harry with slobbery affection, but Harry took to Fang right away, relishing the dog's eager face licks and laughing in delight. The two were rolling around on the grass together wrestling like a couple of littermates when Harry's bottle alarm went off.

"All righ' you two. Tha's enough. Inside now, Harry. Time fer yer bottle an' a rest. Madam Pomfrey's orders, " he added as Harry made to protest. Once they were inside, Hagrid set Harry up on his great bed propped up against the pillows to drink his bottle. Harry finished it without a fuss and snuggled down to sleep.

"Da big bed?" he whispered quizzically, looking at the patchwork quilt covering him. Soon his eyelids drooped and he was gently snoring around his thumb.

The next day, Harry was back at Hagrid's. Try as he might, Hagrid was unable to distract Harry from his favorite creature, the jarvey. Its constant stream of insults didn't faze Harry in the least – mostly owing to the fact that Harry didn't understand them. In addition, they sometimes contained choice phrases such as, "Little twerp," which Harry quite liked the sound of.

This particular jarvey was unusually tame both in its manner – which was quite gentle if a bit skittish – and its language. Jarveys spoke in meaningless phrases, but didn't actually communicate with their words, and were well known for their non-stop ability to hurl rude phrases. Yet this jarvey's insults were a lot milder than others Hagrid had heard, and for that he was grateful. When he was a younger man, he had frequented a pub in Knockturn Alley that had a standing offer of a free case of firewhisky to anyone who could out-cuss the barkeep's pet jarvey – but no one ever could, as far as Hagrid knew. Hagrid's ears turned red in remembrance of some of that animal's more choice remarks.

No, this jarvey was definitely different. Sometimes its insults seemed almost too relevant. Hagrid had come upon it one evening, while returning from his usual rounds. It had a nasty gash on its foreleg; it looked like a jarvey bite, which in itself was a bit odd. Jarveys were known to be solitary creatures and did not fight amongst themselves. Hagrid (being Hagrid) scooped the bleeding creature up and carried it home to tend its wound. The little jarvey showed its gratitude by telling Hagrid he was a 'great oaf' and a 'stupid git' and that his feet 'smelled like Kneazle turds'.

Hagrid lived in abject fear of Harry repeating the jarvey's comments to Madam Pomfrey, but he could deny Harry nothing when the boy looked up at him with his deep green eyes shining and asked hopefully, "My pay wif darvey, Ahgi?"

"Wouldn't you ruther play w'Fang, Harry? Or what abou' feedin' some treats t'the owls?" Harry just shook his head. "Oh, alrigh', Harry. But yer not t'go repeatin' anything she says t'yeh. Yeh can help me give her a bath if y'like, she's getting a bit ripe."

Harry's face broke into a huge grin, "My help you, Ahgi!"

"You wait here, Harry, I'm goin t'go inside t'get some hot water fer the bath."

Harry crawled over to the jarvey's cage as it shouted after Hagrid, "Get a life, you great mean wanker!"

"Ahgi not mean, siwwy darvey," laughed Harry, shaking his head.

"What would you know, you miserable little twerp?"

"You wan tum out, darvey? We don div you a baf."

The jarvey was silent at this, so Harry reached out and fumbled with the latch to the cage. Just then, Hagrid reappeared holding a large wooden tub (which – in his arms – looked more like a small wooden tub).

"Harry! Stop! What'r'yeh doin'?" Hagrid shouted in alarm. "Y'_never_ open a cage by yerself!"

Harry drew his hand back quickly and looked down, his cheeks colouring.

"It's alrigh', Harry. No harm done," Hagrid added more gently. "It's jus' that some creatures can hurt yeh. Yer got ter let me handle 'em firs', alrigh'?"

Harry nodded mutely, still feeling slightly ashamed. Hagrid set the tub down on the bench. He retrieved the jarvey from the cage and carried it to the tub, with Harry crawling a little ways behind him.

"Alrigh' now, Harry?" Hagrid had to shout at this point to be heard over the jarvey's cries of 'Blasted, bloody bath!' "Best push up yer sleeves, don' wan ter get too wet."

Hagrid needn't have bothered; by the end of the bath both he and Harry were as wet as the jarvey. As they dried the squirming creature off with a towel, Hagrid checked its foreleg. "Well, tha's scabbed over nicely, an held up well in the bath, too."

"In da _buddy_ baf," corrected Harry earnestly, and he lay back onto the grass. Harry had had to stand to reach the tub and while he'd lost his balance several times during the bath, he always pulled himself back up. By the end of it, he was quite exhausted.

"I don' think we need t'keep her here anymore," Hagrid told Harry. "No more cage for you, little jarvey. Yer free t'go – once yer all dry, tha' is." And he continued rubbing the creature's fur with the towel.

Harry sat up, frowning. "My no want da darvey to doe, Ahgi. My yike da darvey."

"Well a'course yeh do, Harry. An I like her, too, but she won't thank us fer keeping her locked up in a cage. Yeh can't keep animals like tha', i'snot right."

Harry said nothing and just watched as Hagrid picked up the now dry jarvey.

"T'tell yer the truth, I don' want her t'go either. Grown kinda fond of her, I have."

"Sentimental twits," said the jarvey.

"Righ', well I'll jus' set her down an we'll see wha' she does,. Eh, Harry?"

"Otay, Ahgi," mumbled Harry dejectedly.

Hagrid put the jarvey down on the grass and it began skittering to and fro as though unsure what to do with its newfound freedom. Then it scampered over to Harry and leapt onto his lap.

"You smell like Mooncalf droppings," it said, and promptly gave Harry a long, slow lick up the side of his face.

"You a cute yittew terp," Harry cooed to it lovingly, as he stroked its coarse fur.

Hagrid shook his head in disbelief. "Why a jarvey? Of all creatures –" His regret was cut off by the ringing of Harry's bottle alarm. The routine from the previous day was repeated, only this time, the jarvey followed them inside the hut and leapt easily up to the bed with Harry. As Harry downed the last of his bottle, the jarvey settled itself on the bed beside him.

"Well done, Harry. Good boy. Now close yer eyes an' have a nice rest. I'm jes gonter nip out t'the garden an grab some peas fer shellin."

"Ahgi?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Um, my have a sewger now?" He yawned.

"No, Harry. Please don' ask me that. Madam Pomfrey would be very mad if I gave you sugar lumps before yer nap."

"Otay, Ahgi."

"G'nigh' Harry." Harry nodded sleepily, but his eyes were already closed.

"Haaaawwyyyyyy. Ickle Hawwyyyyyyyy?"

Harry's lashes fluttered. Someone was calling him, but he was so comfortable. He wanted to stay asleep. He turned over on his stomach, away from the voice, and tucked his knees beneath him as he made a small groan of protest. It was working. The voice was fading. Suddenly, he was pushed forcibly over onto his side. He blinked several times and opened his eyes. Kneeling on the bed above him was a woman with long, dark hair. She held one of Hagrid's chair throws wrapped around her. Harry stared at her blankly, still half asleep.

She held a finger to his lips, "Shhhh. Do you know me, ickle Harry?" she asked in a whisper.

Harry shook his head. "You Ahgi's fend?" he whispered back. She chuckled softly at this and Fang whined quietly from under one of Hagrid's chairs.

"Oh my _dear_ little Harry, you really don't remember me?" Another head shake from Harry in answer. "Well then, I am _your_ friend, Harry." She smiled broadly at him, revealing her perfect, pearl-like teeth. She tilted her head in thought for a moment and continued, "Why don't you call me 'Lily'?" You like to have friends, don't you?"

Harry nodded a bit warily. The woman's eyes kept shifting from him to the window and back as she spoke. She leaned in closer to him, still speaking in a low whisper. "Friends do nice things for each other, don't they, Harry?" she said smiling. Harry just stared. "Like share treats. I bet you'd love to have some sugar lumps, wouldn't you?"

"Ahgi say 'No'," explained Harry, shaking his head dejectedly.

"Well, that's just silly. Doesn't he know you like sugar lumps?"

"Him know. But Pomfee say no have a yot of sewgers."

The woman sighed heavily and shook her head with a look of great pity on her face. Then she climbed down from the bed and went to Hagrid's table. She rewrapped the throw about her torso as she went, tucking the edge in so it stayed up on its own around her. When she returned, she had Hagrid's sugar bowl in hand.

"Here you go, dear, _sweet_, ickle Harry. You've been such a good boy, haven't you? You deserve some reward."

Harry hesitated. He really _had_ been a good boy and he really _did_ love sugar lumps. Hagrid had said 'No', yet here was this nice friend, telling him it _was_ okay. Urging him, in fact. And the temptation was simply too great. Harry reached out hesitantly, took a lump and placed it in his mouth. He closed his eyes as he savoured the sweetness dissolving on his tongue. When he opened them, the woman was gone and the sugar bowl rested beside him on the bed.

"Yiwee? Where you doe?" he whispered, looking around the cabin. There was no answer and no sign of the woman. Harry sucked on many more of the sweet lumps before drifting into a sugary stupor. When next he woke, it was to the loud sounds of Hagrid, snoring by his bed in a comfy chair. His head felt funny and Hagrid's deep rolling snores weren't helping any.

"Ahgi! My awate!" He shouted above the din.

"Huh? Hm, erm, oh. Harry. Yer awake, eh? Good nap, lad?" Hagrid asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Harry just frowned and rubbed his own eyes. Then he squeezed them shut and rubbed his head. He brought his Draco-sleeve up to his face, pressed the fine cloth onto his forehead and made a little whinging sound.

"Wha' wrong, there, Harry? Yer lookin a little green." Hagrid clomped to the bedside and gently touched the back of his hand to Harry's cheek. "Don' feel too warm. Wha's this?" Hagrid spied the nearly empty sugar bowl on the bed. "Oh, Harry. Did yeh eat all tha' sugar? S'no wonder yeh don' feel righ'." Hagrid shook his head sadly. "Yeh disappointed me, Harry, an Madam Pomfrey isn't gon ter like this one bit."

"But Yiwee say I _tan_ have da sewgers."

"No, Harry. You asked me an I said 'No'," cut in Hagrid, misunderstanding Harry's words.

"But –"

"It's time we got back teh th'castle." Without another word, Hagrid pulled back the quilt and put Harry's trainers on his feet.

"A-Ahgi?"

"I don' wan ter talk abou' it righ' now, Harry." The half-giant said, shaking his head. He was most definitely _not_ looking forward to explaining this to Madam Pomfrey.

The trip back to the castle was a somber one. Harry did not try to talk to Hagrid again but just clung to his coat as Hagrid carried him up the path to Hogwarts' main doors.

As Hagrid had anticipated, Madam Pomfrey was absolutely furious with him. They left Harry in the nursery with Dobby and a bottle of tonic to take the edge off his sugar headache so they could talk freely.

"How could you leave such a temptation within his reach like that? And why did you leave him alone?"

"He wasn' alone. Fang was there, an' his jarvey, an I was jus' righ' outside…in…the…garden. Oh. I shouldna said tha'" he cringed.

"Did you say 'jarvey'? Aren't they those foul-mouthed overgrown weasels?"

"Well, erm, strickly speakin, yes. But this one's ruther tame, an Harry took a shine t'her."

Madam Pomfrey's face grew redder with every word.

"I tried t'get rid've her. But she wouldna' leave. She really likes Harry. Er, It's good fer a lad t'have a pet. Teaches him responsibility an like…"_I __really__ shouldna said tha'_ thought Hagrid with further dread. The resulting tirade about responsibility went on for several minutes until Pomfrey had to stop to draw her breath. Then she sighed wearily.

"No great harm was done this time, Rubeus, but what if Harry had gotten into something dangerous?"

"Yer absolutely righ'. M'rubbish a'this. Poor Harry."

"You are _not_ 'rubbish', Rubeus," said Pomfrey more gently. "But next weekend will be spent here at the castle. I have to go see my sister on Saturday and I know that Harry would much rather spend the morning with you than listening to two stuffy old witches catching up."

Harry bounced back quickly from the sugar incident and was relentlessly badgering Madam Pomfrey all week to allow Hagrid to bring the jarvey to visit on Saturday. By Wednesday, he had worn Pomfrey down and she relented on the condition that it would be kept on a leash and wear some sort of nappy.

"I will not have that thing running willy-nilly about my quarters making 'deposits'," and that was her final word.

During the week, Harry made some progress working on taking steps with Madam Nesbit and Hagrid, and on Saturday morning when Hagrid knocked on the door, Harry pushed himself up from the sofa and tottered almost the whole way to the door without falling.

"Well done, Harry!" exclaimed Madam Pomfrey happily.

Harry pulled himself up by the door handle and awkwardly opened the door for Hagrid. True to his word, Hagrid had the jarvey under one arm. It was wearing a nappy with a hole cut out for its tail and had a crossed harness with a lead attached.

"Mornin there, Harry, Madam Pomfrey," Hagrid greeted them in a voice slightly raised in vain effort to drown out the jarvey's mutterings about 'tacky, tasteless garments'.

"I knew I would regret this," Pomfrey said under her breath. "Harry, I'm not coming back till after lunch today. Dobby will bring a special meal for you and Hagrid."

"An for Darvey, too?" asked Harry earnestly

"Yes," sighed Madam Pomfrey, "I suppose so. Be a good boy, Harry, and mind Hagrid."

Harry nodded and reached for the jarvey. Hagrid set it on the floor and gave Harry the lead. The creature skittered about, shaking the nappy off easily and ran around and around Harry tangling the lead about his legs. Harry laughed as he fell on his bottom and the jarvey jumped in his lap and licked his face. Pomfrey just shook her head and gathered up her bag and robe.

"I'll be back at two. _Try_ to keep everything – and _everyone_ in one piece, Hagrid, won't you?"

"Don' you worry Poppy. We'll be fine," returned the half-giant. With a curt nod of skepticism, Madam Pomfrey was off.

The first thing Harry wanted to do was to take the jarvey to the nursery and show it all his toys and books. He was completely oblivious to the creature's disinterest as he went through his most prized possessions, holding each one up as he described it.

"…an' dis my sitch – my pay catch wif Non-non and Nee-nee. Dis my qaffle – my yike to frow it up high. Dis my comit boot wif Wizard Gick. He da funny man…"

Ten o'clock couldn't come soon enough for Hagrid. He was petrified that the jarvey would empty her bladder in Madam Pomfrey's pristine quarters. He was planning to ask Dobby to keep an eye on Harry while he took the creature outside, but Harry had other ideas.

"No, Ahgi! Darvey yike seep wif Ha-ee."

"Now, Harry, yer jarvey needs t'use the loo. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't like it at all if yer pet made a mess in her home."

"Darvey a good girl. She not mate a mess. Peese, Ahgi? My yike dat darvey…"

And there were those green eyes again. Imploring him in a way that Hagrid felt powerless to refuse. And though he felt foolish – he knew there was no real magic behind those eyes this time – he relented, and fully relished the delighted look on Harry's innocent face.

After Harry had finished his bottle and was nestled in his new 'big boy' bed with the jarvey at his side, Hagrid retreated from the nursery.

"I'll leave the door open a crack, Harry. Jes call if yeh need me." After he left Harry, Hagrid did a thorough search of Madam Pomfrey's quarters to be sure the jarvey had left no undetected mess. When he was satisfied that the place was spotless, Hagrid settled onto the sofa (which Madam Pomfrey had kindly enlarged prior to his arrival) and fell into a light sleep himself.

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The author humbly apologizes for the delay in this chapter. My beta was busy with RL and I feel she is worth the wait. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

hopes for feedback

Reader alert: The next chapter will be _dark_. More warnings to come…


	15. Downs and Oops and Ups and Downs

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

A/N: Firstly, erm, this is unbetaed. I am in the process of enlisting a new beta. But I needed to post this chapter to get me writing again.

WARNING: So this is where it starts to get dark. There is humour as well – for you can't have dark without light – but there are some scenes ahead that involve child sexual abuse. If you would rather not read such parts but still wish to know what happened in the story, E me or leave me a message on my LJ (tsuj dot livejournal dot com) and I'll see what I can do. 

**Chapter 15: Downs and Oops and Ups and Downs**

Someone was calling him again. Harry didn't want to listen, but the voice persisted and Harry had an awareness of some discomfort.

"Hmm? Mmm-my nappy…too tight," he mumbled. Then he distinctly felt something pressing on the outside of his nappy. "Wha?" he blinked sleepily.

"Something wrong down there, ickle Hawwy?" came a husky whisper in his ear.

Harry's eyes shot open and he looked up to see Lily, the woman from Hagrid's hut. She had a crooked smile on her face and she was continuing to press and rub her hand on Harry's crotch over his nappy. Harry was experiencing strange sensations.

"Uh. My, my wee-wee. Uhhh. Wh-what you doin', Yiwee?"

"I can fix your 'wee-wee', ickle Harry, but you have to be _very_ quiet." Her continuous movements caused Harry's hips to buck unbidden and his breath to quicken.

"Well, it looks like _some_ part of you is still seventeen," she smirked at his confused look. "Oh it's alright, Harry. I can help you," she whispered, and her smile twisted further. "Now give me your hands." She stopped rubbing his nappy and Harry's hips continued to wriggle involuntarily.

"Uh? Oh, oh," grunted Harry, shifting uncomfortably.

"Didn't Madam Pomfrey teach you to mind your elders, Harry? I think she would be _very_ disappointed in you. Now do as I say," she commanded sternly, "and give. Me. Your. Hands."

Harry just stared at her, his eyes welling up.

"Oh for the love of Mordred –" the woman snapped sharply. Then, her voice was suddenly all kindness once more. "Just mind Lily, dear, and give me your hands. We have to fix this…problem, Harry, before it's too late."

Harry's eyes widened in alarm at that and he slowly held a hand out to her. The woman guided Harry's hand and placed it over his mouth.

"Wha–? Mmph!" came Harry's muffled query as the woman pressed her own hand over Harry's, silencing him.

"And you have to be _very_ quiet if you want to be fixed. You _do_ want your little wee-wee fixed, don't you, ickle Hawwy?"

"Mmmph." She was pressing his hand down so tightly that Harry could barely nod.

"Now give me your other hand." She took it and guided it under the covers and into Harry's nappy, pressing his fingers onto his penis. She wrapped her own hand over his and his eyes widened further as she began up and down motions.

"Mmmm-mmph!" Harry's hips bucked at the sensations and he whimpered and huffed rapidly through his nose. After only a few moments, Harry felt an overwhelming surge from within and he squeezed his eyes shut tight and let out a muffled groan. He felt the woman's hands disappear and his own hand over his mouth fell slack to his chin and he drew in deep, shuddering breaths. His heart was pounding in his throat and Harry could feel something warm and wet on the hand in his nappy. He pulled it slowly out as he felt the self-cleaning spell activate. Harry looked down in horror to see his hand covered with a thick, white substance. That was when Hagrid walked in.

"Y'alrigh, Harry? I though' I heard yeh –"

Harry slowly turned his head to Hagrid holding up the semen-covered hand to show him.

"Uh, Ahgi? My wee-wee boten!" he cried.

"Oh, erm, um. Well." Hagrid grabbed a cloth nappy from the stack on the dresser as he approached the distraught boy. Harry was sniffing in great gulps of air and blinking back tears as he held the offending proof out to Hagrid.

"S'alrigh, Harry," said Hagrid awkwardly. He began to wipe off Harry's hand with the nappy as he struggled for the right words. "S'not exactly 'broken', mind. Y'see, when a young man, erm, well, sometimes… Uh, there's these things called 'wet dreams' and when – Y'know what? Let's let Madam Pomfrey 'splain this to yeh." Noting that the look of concern hadn't left Harry's face, Hagrid added reassuringly, "No need t'worry, Harry. This is perfectly natural. Happens t'everybody. There, now. All clean."

"Yook me, Pomfee! My make pudding!" A very sticky and very happy-looking Harry was sitting on the floor in the kitchens; his face, hands, shirtfront, trousers – even his hair were all splattered with, well, Pomfrey didn't know what. An equally adorned Dobby crouched at his side. The house-elf's guilty expression was barely readable under a white powdery coating. Harry sloppily licked the large mixing spoon he was holding and smiled, offering it out to share with the Madam Pomfrey. The Nurse just narrowed her eyes as she took in the scope of the scene before her. There were empty flour and sugar canisters, molasses and honey jars, as well as bags of dried currants and brown sugar, which Harry had evidently poured into a large mixing bowl parked between his splayed legs (or poured in the general vicinity of the bowl, at least). The floor was also covered with the sticky concoction, and so Madam Pomfrey came no closer. A few other house-elves were working by the hearths on the other side of the great room. They appeared to be making a point of not knowing what was going on behind them. When Pomfrey met the gazes of one or two of them, they popped out of the kitchens at once, suddenly feeling the urge to be elsewhere.

"Precisely what is going on here, Dobby?" she asked, attempting to keep her tone even so as not to upset Harry (who had gone back to stirring the bowl and sloshing more of its contents all over himself).

"Ohhhh, Dobby is not wanting to say, Miss Nurse Madam Pomfrey." He nervously pulled on a sugared ear.

"I imagine not," said the Nurse, gritting her teeth in effort not to yell, "but 'say' you will, Dobby. At once!" The effort failed somewhat at the last and Harry looked up in surprise. The few remaining house-elves chose this moment to take their leave as well. Pomfrey thought that was rather wise of them.

"Pomfee, no be mad. Dobby help my make dis! Dobby yike a'help Hawwy Podder!"

"Dobby is so sorry, Miss. But Harry Potter is asking and asking Dobby for pudding." At this, Pomfrey's accusatory gaze shifted to Harry, who looked down in shame and sucked on his lower lip. This only served to distract the boy, however, as it was covered in honey and brown sugar (much like the rest of his face), and he lifted the spoon, full and dripping, to lick at more of the sweet mess.

Dobby continued, "So Dobby is telling Harry Potter that his Pomfee is saying 'No pudding before dinner,' and Mister Harry Potter is asking, 'Please, please, please,' and Dobby," and here the house elf let out a pitiful wail and fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands, "Dobby, oh, bad Dobby, is telling a lieeeee," came the muffled voice. "Dobby is soooooo sorry. Dobby is a bad, bad house-elf: saying the kitchens have no pudding and it will take too long to make, so Harry Potter will not keep asking and be getting in t-t-t-troubllllle."

As Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes and prayed for patience, Harry stopped licking his 'pudding' and looked up. Misunderstanding Dobby's concern, Harry entreated, "Dobby, no cry. My doe faster!" And Harry plunked the spoon back in the bowl and started jerking it back and forth awkwardly, sending dollops of sugary goo over the rim until Madam Pomfrey called for him to stop.

"That will be quite enough stirring, Harry. And Dobby, pull yourself together." Her tone brooked no argument. She was obeyed immediately; Harry stilled his hand and the little house-elf stood up and dabbed at his enormous, shining eyes with the sticky corner of his scarf.

He sniffled noisily and squeaked, "Dobby is better, now, Miss."

"I'm glad to hear it," said the Nurse, though, in fact, she didn't sound particularly glad. She turned next to her sugarcoated charge, "Harry, you know better than to ask for pudding before meals. It's not fair to Dobby and you've made him upset."

Harry's lower lip quivered at this. "My sorry," he mumbled repentantly.

"Well no great harm done, as he's fine now," she said, her threatening tone daring the house-elf not to be. She pulled out her wand, vanishing the bowl and the empty canisters and sending a Scourgify at Harry.

Harry frowned at this but said nothing. He knew he had been naughty to push Dobby so, and he felt genuinely remorseful.

"However, there will be consequences for your misbehaviour, Harry. There will be no pudding for you for the rest of the week, and tonight, you will go straight to bed after dinner. I am canceling Ms. Weasley's visit."

"But Pomfee, Nee-nee was don read me 'bout Wizard Gick tonight!"

"Well she'll have to do it some other night."

"But she _pomise_!"

"Harry James Potter, she did _not_ give you a wizard's oath and this _not_ is up for discussion. You have been a _very_ naughty boy, and naughty boys don't get to have friends over to read special stories. I won't hear another word on the matter," she added sternly, as her charge made to renew his protest.

Feelings of shame and anger whirled through Harry. He would not meet Madam Pomfrey's eyes and he did not speak again for the rest of the evening.

When Pomfrey tucked Harry into bed that night, she had to fight the urge not to coddle her charge. Harry simply _had_ to learn to mind. As the Nurse made to leave the nursery, a soft voice stopped her.

"My _sorry_," whispered Harry, his voice full of remorse. "My not don do dat again." Harry turned on his side clutching his Draco Sleeve. He let out a deep sigh, tucked his thumb in his mouth, and closed his eyes. Madam Pomfrey spun around, strode back to Harry's bedside, gave him a goodnight kiss on the top of his head and left without a word.

It was a bit of a gloomy Sunday, and Harry was lying on his stomach on the carpet by the hearth looking through the latest book on magical creatures that Hagrid had given him. He was propped up on his elbows; chin resting on one hand while the other slowly turned the pages.

_Madam Nesbit would highly approve_, mused Pomfrey, for reading in this position helped Harry build his upper body strength. And that's how it was for the Hogwarts Nurse these days. Every single thing that Harry did was viewed through the lens of how it would benefit his progress. A large part of Harry's treatment involved him practising basic physical skills. Madam Nesbit had thus instructed the Nurse to do as little magic for Harry as possible to help encourage his motor skills to redevelop, and there was steady, if slow, progress. Again Pomfrey marveled at Harry's resilience. Her thoughts abruptly halted when she noticed Harry rubbing his scar wound absently as he looked at his book.

"Is that bothering you, Harry?" asked the Nurse, masking the concern from her voice. Harry looked up from this, mid-rub.

"Hmm? Oh. My boo-boo? No. Dat jus feel bumpy," he said, thoughtfully rubbing it again.

The misshapen tissue from where Lucius Malfoy had cut Harry was taking an unusually long time to heal. There was still a rather large scab remaining, and where bits of it had fallen away the skin was puckered and uneven. Because of the deadly nature of the original wound ­­– and in the absence of more knowledge of how Horcruxes related to curse scars – the Healers at St. Mungo's had all thought it best to refrain from using magic on Harry's scar.

"Well you let me know if it _does_ bother you, alright?"

"Otay, Pomfee," said Harry as he turned another page. "Pomfee?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"My doe see Ahgi 'day?"

"Yes, Harry. After lunch. Hagrid said he'd come by to get you." Harry looked up with a wide grin at this pronouncement.

"Ahgi eat dinner wif us?" he asked hopefully.

"We can certainly invite him and see what he says." Pomfrey chuckled softly to herself. Hagrid had refused Harry nothing in the past few weeks. She was certain tonight would be no different.

Harry just smiled at her and went back to looking at his book.

Hagrid had tried on numerous occasions to rid himself of the jarvey, but to no avail. The blasted creature simply would not leave. It behaved more like a dog (not a dog like Fang, of course – more like a proper dog) than a jarvey, but perhaps with an odd bit of kneazle mixed in. Here it was again, following him up to the castle, and Hagrid – who usually had endless patience with all manner of creatures – was beginning to crack.

"Listen t'me, Darvey," Harry's mispronunciation of 'jarvey' had become the creature's name by default, "Yeh may make Harry happy," Hagrid grumbled to the creature, "but yer makin my life mis'rable. Why can' y'jes bugger off?"

"Bugger off yourself, Pus-for-brains!" was the jarvey's rejoinder, and this was followed by a long and colourful string of insults pertaining mostly to Hagrid's 'questionable' parentage with a few remarks about his poor taste in couture thrown in for good measure.

Hagrid just sighed heavily and rolled his eyes as he trudged the last meters up to the castle. At the door he turned to the jarvey. "Look, yer not comin' in this time. Madam Pomfrey found the little present yeh left in her slipper las' week, an' she din want t' thank yeh fer it neither. If yeh don' want t'end up as trim on her new robe collar ye'd best stay far away." Hagrid swiftly closed the door behind him before the jarvey's next contemptuous tirade could begin.

However, not fifteen minutes later when he reopened the door (with Harry in tow), the creature was still ranting.

"…feet the size of pumpkins and could use an improvement in scent!"

"Darvey!" Harry cried in delight as he crawled to embrace the startled creature.

"Little stinker," returned the jarvey blandly.

Harry just laughed, saying, "I not a yiddew tinker – I a yiddew terp! 'Member?"

"All righ' you two. Let's go if we're goin," sighed Hagrid, shaking his head wearily. He scooped up Harry, who had at last released the struggling jarvey and set off down the path to his home.

The look on Madam Pomfrey's face when Hagrid returned to her chambers that afternoon carrying Harry in one arm and the jarvey under the other was beyond description. Hagrid swallowed hard and set Harry down on the sofa, raising a placating hand.

"Now, Poppy. B'fore yeh say anything, hear me out: Harry, here, he _walked_! Almos' half the way up, all by himself, he did."

Hagrid held his breath as Pomfrey studied the boy on the sofa. Harry looked thoroughly exhausted. His face was slightly flushed and the knees of his trousers were dusty, as if from multiple falls. But also, he was looking up at her with a shy smile of pride.

Whatever admonition Pomfrey had been about to heap onto Hagrid for bringing the disgusting creature back into her home was forgotten as she rushed to Harry's side, her own face splitting with an enormous grin. Hagrid remembered to release his breath.

"Oh, Harry! Did you _really_?" she gushed. Harry nodded, flushing further and Pomfrey gave him a squeeze.

Harry laughed out loud crying, "My doed it myself!"

Pomfrey wiped at her eyes and patted Harry's head lovingly. "Well, this certainly calls for a celebration! Let's get you cleaned up for dinner – and we will have treacle for pudding tonight." She called out for Dobby, who readily undertook to bathe Harry while Hagrid filled Pomfrey in on all the details.

"I know how yeh detest little Darvey an all, Poppy, but it was her that done it in the end," began Hagrid. "See, Harry wanted her t'come back wi' us an I – well, erm – I sorta fibbed an said i' was too far fer her t'walk twice in one day. An Harry pops up wi', 'You carry her, Ahgi – my walk!' He was so proud a' himself." Hagrid pulled out his spotted hanky and wiped a tear from his eye. "Course, after a bit, he started to fade an took a few spills, so I tole him I'd carry em both."

"Lazy little sod," sniffed the jarvey from under the table.

"Now Darvey, mind yer P's an Q's," cautioned Hagrid pointlessly. He didn't want to push their luck as far as Madam Pomfrey's good will went. However, and to Hagrid's great surprise and relief, Poppy's good will went quite far; for when Harry came back in from his bath he was holding Dobby's little wizened hand and walking (if a bit unsteadily).

"Yook, Darvey, my doed it again!"

The jarvey remained oddly silent, as if it, too, didn't want to press upon the good will of the Hogwarts Nurse. It was a wise choice, for Pomfrey actually acquiesced to Harry's request that his pseudo pet, "Darvey," stay over.

"But just till you fall asleep. You can see it again tomorrow, after St. Mungo's."

To Harry's credit, he tried to hide his disappointment, saying, "Otay, Pomfee. Dat be nice." But his crestfallen expression belied his well-mannered reply.

Harry had begun nodding off halfway through an unprecedented allowance of a second helping of treacle, so Pomfrey wiped his face clean with a damp serviette, used a cleaning charm on his teeth and had Hagrid carry the boy to bed.

"Tum on, Darvey," Harry yawned sleepily, resting his head on Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid tucked Harry in, but not before the jarvey jumped up and burrowed under the covers.

Madam Pomfrey barely restrained a sniff of disgust at this. Instead, she pulled her wand from her apron pocket and incanted a quiet, "Nox," as the two adults retreated from the nursery.

Bellatrix Lestrange was not a happy woman. But that was nothing new, of course. What was new, however, was that she had found herself unexpectedly faced with the opportunity to do something about it – an opportunity that came in the form of one completely helpless Harry Potter. And as Bellatrix was more than a little insane – and crueler still than that to boot – she planned to take full advantage of that opportunity.

Her Master's defeat – at the hands of 'Ickle Hawwy Potter', a mere half-blood boy – had left Bellatrix bereft for all of about a minute. Just before the final confrontation, Bella had barely dodged a Stupefy, but had feigned being hit and dove to the ground. Unnoticed, she had transformed into her Animagus form and scampered off in time to witness a dying Greyback lie to one of the Weasley spawn , telling him that Lady Lestrange was dead.

She smirked inwardly. Her sometimes-lover had given her an invaluable gift in his death: her enemies would think themselves safe from her, and they would be very wrong. Bellatrix was delighted at the prospect. She was partial to the element of surprise – so long as it wasn't directed at her. She briefly thought to avenge Greyback's death right then and rip the Weasley's befreckled, ginger head right off his spindly body, instead of taking advantage of the werewolf's gift. But, she decided that her revenge could wait, as she didn't want to miss Potter's demise at the Dark Lord's hands.

But then the unthinkable happened. The Potter brat sent the Killing Curse at her Master! Bellatrix had almost laughed at this. She had been on the receiving end of baby Potter's last failed Unforgivable. She knew it would be ineffective, and that was her last thought before she lost consciousness.

When Bellatrix awoke, she found her wand was gone. Hearing the Mudblood girl rising, Bella quickly transfigured back into her Animagus form and moved to the cover of the underbrush. She discovered, as the Weasley girl regained consciousness, that they were wandless as well. Bella followed them as they carried Potter's battered form to the half-giant's hovel and stared in disbelief as they took Potter inside. How was it possible that he yet lived, while her Master was dead? And she knew in her hard little heart that this time it was an irreversible death. Everything was ruined. She had finally made it out of Azkaban and now her future was destroyed. And. Ickle. Harry. Potter. Would. Pay.

The plan was a simple one. Keep her to her Animagus form. Get into the good graces of the half-wit half-giant, and worm her way into Potter's miserable excuse of a life. She knew that she needed a decent injury so that the infamously softhearted Hogwarts' Groundskeeper would take her in, so she bit herself – quite viciously. It was painful, of course, but to Bellatrix's way of thinking that was not necessarily a bad thing. As she had hoped, Hagrid had taken pity on her ("Poor lil' thing," he'd cooed sickeningly) and he carried her home to tend her wound.

And now, here she was, staring down at the hapless Boy Who Didn't Deserve To Live. She was barely able to contain herself at the breadth of things she wanted do to him. Granted, if she could get him off the castle grounds and all to herself , things would be so much the better …

--

A/N: While I find it easy-ish to suspend disbelief and overlook the issue of clothing during Animagus Transfiguration, I've wondered about wands.

Any thoughts?

Perhaps the wand becomes an extension of the witch or wizard and is somehow then enveloped into the Transfigured form…

Next up, Chapter 16: Revenge Is A Dish Best Served

13


	16. Revenge Is A Dish Best Served

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary:** Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**Warnings: **violence, mindf*ck, noncon breathplay.

**Chapter 16:** **Revenge Is A Dish Best Served**

It was not long after Madam Pomfrey shut the nursery door behind her and Hagrid that the soft sounds of Harry's snoring were heard. That was when the jarvey-sized lump beside him grew, pulling the covers off of the boy as it did.

Bellatrix Lestrange drew the duvet off of her head and tucked it around her torso. She studied her sleeping enemy with a mixture of contempt and anticipation. If only she _could_ get him off of Hogwarts' grounds… Her mind reeled at the thought of this boy, the bane of her life, chained and at her mercy in the Lestrange family dungeons. _There _must_ be a way_, she thought, as she traced the outline of the oddly shaped scab on Harry's forehead. It was so much larger than the beautiful little lightening bolt that used to reside there. Potter – the blasphemous, ungrateful little horror – had destroyed that which her Master had created. In doing so, the boy had apparently destroyed his own mind as well. But to Bellatrix this was nowhere near punishment enough. Oh, how she wanted this boy to suffer. She glared at him, seething with hate and a desire for revenge. And then, Bellarix knew exactly what she wanted to do, for she felt it would be quite fitting for the scar that The Dark Lord had gifted to this 'Chosen Brat' was instrumental in the boy's final undoing.

Harry twitched slightly at a feather-light touch on his skin, but did not wake. Bellatrix laughed softly at his reaction and brushed her finger over Harry's scab again. "Mmmm. I think you will be my very most favorite toy," she whispered lovingly as she pressed her hand over his mouth and tapped sharply on the scabbed-over scar. Harry made a soft grunt of annoyance and Bellatrix tapped him again, harder this time, and then more lightly. Eyes still closed, Harry waved a hand – a half-hearted swat in the direction of the disturbance. At this, Bella leaned forward and bit Harry's finger sharply. Harry started, his eyes flew open as he yanked his hand back.

"Mmph!" He took a moment to try to orient himself. "Mmm – hmm?" He looked in confusion at the woman leaning over him.

"Shhh," whispered Bellatrix, squeezing Harry's jaw tightly and leaned in further. "I am going to remove my hand, Harry," she whispered directly into his ear, "and you will be _very_ quiet, won't you? We don't want to disturb your Madam Pomfrey. She works _so_ hard and is _so_ very tired. Understood?"

Harry nodded slowly and Bellatrix released him. Harry immediately scowled and whispered indignantly, "Ow! Dat hurt!" He brought the injured finger to his mouth and sucked on it, frowning.

"Yes, well, sorry. I had to wake you up somehow," said Bellatrix, poorly feigning remorse.

Still, Harry's scowl faded. He remembered this woman now, as his wits were returning to him; She had given him sugar cubes in Hagrid's hut. But then another memory came to him, and Harry drew his legs together and moved his hands down to cover his crotch. "Y-you don help fitz my weewee again, Yiwee?" he whispered in an uncertain tone.

"Oh my, what a good ickle memory you have, Hawwy." Bellatrix chuckled at the indecision she detected in his voice. That he sounded rather mixed about whether or not he wanted her 'help', bade well for the games she had planned for later. "Perhaps another time," she purred and smiled down at him, though her hooded eyes did not. "But I _am_ going to help you fix something else." Bellatrix couldn't suppress a smirk when Harry's eyes widened at that.

"Wh-what you don fitz?"

"That," Bella roughly jabbed at Harry's scab.

"Ow!" Harry shrank back from the too-hard poke.

"Shh!" Bella hissed. "That 'thing' needs fixing, Harry. And the sooner the better."

"M-my boo-boo?" he asked incredulously, lowering his voice again.

"Yes," Bella rolled her eyes and took a calming breath. "Your disgusting 'owie' needs fixing, my ickle dear, before it gets worse."

"But…Pomfee say dat _not_ can be fitzed," countered Harry, absently rubbing his fingers over the familiar rough patch on his forehead. Madam Pomfrey had told him that she didn't have a potion or spell to help make it go away.

"Well, she was wrong," said Bella firmly, but seeing the skeptical look from Harry that met this pronouncement, she hastily amended this. "Madam Pomfrey just doesn't know _how_ to fix it." Harry still did not look convinced, so Bellatrix continued, "Of course, you must know how much she hates that ugly thing?"

Harry blinked for a moment, not quite sure that he was understanding. "Pomfee…no yike my booboo?"

"Of course not, Harry! _No one_ likes it. They are all afraid of it. It's grotesque… and… it's full of filthy, bad blood that is turning you into a bad boy." She paused and pierced him with an accusatory look. "Didn't you know?" The resulting look of distress on her prey's face was like a tonic to Bella's twisted soul.

"But… but _Pomfee_ no say dat a'me." Harry's voice wavered as he thought of how Madam Pomfrey always commented when he rubbed his forehead. And then he thought of how he had gotten Dobby to help him make pudding before dinner. He had known full well that that was wrong, yet he had done it anyways. And Dobby had even gotten in trouble for it.

"Humph! Well… I suppose she didn't want you to be afraid," Bella's thoughts raced to supply an explanation. "But Harry," she continued in a conspiratorial tone as she leaned in closely, "you _should_ be afraid. That bad blood in your head will only get worse if it's not fixed soon. And it will make you do terrible things. Things that will hurt 'Pomfee' and 'Ahgi' and all your other ickle friends."

Harry swallowed hard and his eyes widened impossibly farther.

"Ah," said Bellatrix knowingly. "You _don't_ want that, I see." And Harry shook his head emphatically at this. "Then you _would_ like me to help you with this?" she asked slowly, deeply relishing Harry's obvious distress. She could see he was trying desperately not to cry as he nodded frantically in reply. A malevolent smile bloomed across Bella's face. She knew she was going to savour every moment of fear and pain she could wrench from this boy. "Alright then, Harry. I will help you," she said, gracing him now with her most benevolent look.

"F-f-fank you, Yiwee," Harry sniffled.

His polite response caught Bellatrix Lestrange completely off guard. She certainly hadn't expected him to thank her, and for some reason it made her angry. She took a moment to compose herself and continued in as kindly a voice as she could stomach. "We must use a most potent magic, Harry: 'Secret Magic'. Of course, I'm _sure_ a big boy like you knows what that means?" She graced him with an innocent look of expectation.

Harry bit his lower lip and shook his head in shame.

Bellatrix feigned a sympathetic sigh. She reached down to take Harry's finger – the one she had bitten before – and guided it in slow circles over his scab as she spoke. "We've got to pull off that ugly scab and get all the bad blood out."

Harry gave an involuntary shudder and started to pull his hand away, but the woman held fast. He knew from picking at his scabbed knee that it would hurt. He remembered that Madam Pomfrey had admonished him, but had given him a potion that took away the hurt. "Can – can't Pomfee help me wif –?" began Harry, voice trembling.

Furious, Bellatrix bent Harry's finger back mercilessly, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from the boy. She clamped a hand over his mouth again, hissing fiercely, "I _told_ you to be _quiet_!" She was quite displeased to note that suddenly there was a hint of defiance warring with the fear in those ridiculously green eyes. Still, Bella forced her expression to soften. "Oh, I am _soooo_ sorry, ickle Hawwy," she said, bringing his finger to her mouth and sucking on it noisily. Then she drew it out slowly, kissed the tip, and added in mock sincerity, which she knew the boy would miss, "I certainly didn't mean to hurt you, ickle baby." She released him and gently patted his finger with a pout of remorse. "It's just that you can not tell _anyone_ about Secret Magic. Especially not Madam Pomfrey."

Harry's expression faded slightly. He worried his lower lip, reflecting on this new information for a few moments. Then he said, his confusion evident, "But… I '_pose_ tell Pomfee 'bout if my boo-boo bohver me."

Bellatrix pouted further and shook her head sadly. "Oh dear, Harry. That would be a most terrible mistake. If you tell anyone about Secret Magic, bad things will happen to them. Very. Bad. Things."

"Wh –"

"Listen to me, Harry. If you breath one word of this to Madam Pomfrey she will have to go away to a bad, scary place and she will _never_ come back. Is that what you want?" she asked ominously. Then she softened her tone once more and cooed, "I'm sure you don't want that, ickle Hawwy, do you?"

"No!" he said at once. Her glare told him he had spoken too loudly and he pressed his fingers to his lips in a show of atonement, whispering, "No. My no…"

"Ah, then it's all settled," said Bella with a smirk of satisfaction. "Let us begin."

Harry gulped. "N-now?"

"Yes, _now_," replied Bellatrix, somewhat impatiently. "I though you were a 'brave ickle Gryffindork'?" and as Harry gave a slow nod in answer, she continued. "Now, you mustn't make a sound – no matter how much it hurts. Because Harry," she nodded sagely, "If Madam Pomfrey hears you, she will come and try to stop you. And if you tell her that we are doing Secret Magic," and here, Bellatrix shuddered dramatically, "you'll never see her again."

Harry nodded solemnly, blinking back tears, and he pressed his lips together in determination.

"No, you foolish boy. That won't do." She looked about and spied Draco's old robe sleeve by Harry's pillow. "Open your mouth," she said, taking up the dark cloth. Harry hesitated and parted his lips slightly. "Wider!" she hissed impatiently and as he obeyed, Bella began slowly stuffing a corner of the black sleeve in. The sight of it was almost too much for Bellatrix and she had to stop herself from the very strong urge to suffocate him right then and there.

Harry whimpered softly as he felt his mouth fill. It was hard to swallow and he clenched his fists tightly to stop himself from pulling the cloth out. He knew he had to be brave. He had to be a big boy. He could not let anything bad happen to his beloved caregiver.

"Good boy," she sneered. "Now bite down on that as hard as you can." Bella could not suppress a shiver of delight in counter to Harry's shudder of fear. "Arms by your sides, Harry," she instructed and climbed onto the bed to straddle him. Bellatrix took a deep breath and leaned forward, giving Harry a long, slow lick from the tip of his nose to the top of his scar. Harry made a plaintive sound in the back of his throat and squeezed his eyes shut. _Just as well_, thought Bella,_ you don't deserve to see this._

Reverently, Bellatrix placed a pointed fingernail at the top of her Master's mangled creation and began to peel the scab up slowly, watching lustfully as blood seeped out at the edges of the wound. When Harry hunched his shoulders up and whimpered through the gag it was simply too much for Bella. She moved her other hand to cover Harry's nose and mouth, cutting off his airflow, delighting at how his eyes popped open and his legs kicked uselessly behind her. Bella did not waiver; she pressed her thighs more tightly around him and leaned down to tear the rest of the scab completely off with her teeth. _In honour of you, Fenrir_.

Blood welled up and trickled down, mingling with Harry's tears. He twisted under Bellatrix and his feet kicked out harder in his desperation to get oxygen. Bellatrix was nearly dislodged and she swatted his thigh hissing sharply, "_Be still!_"

Harry heard nothing over the roaring in his ears. As his vision bean to close in, he was suddenly released. Harry struggled to draw in breath through the mucus clogging his nasal passages. Tears were streaming through his closed eyes and his sobs were muffled by the wad of cloth in his mouth.

"There, there," Bella crooned and placed a hand on his chest, giving it an awkward pat. "Shh. Shhh. What a good ickle baby you are." She began to slowly draw out the now-damp cloth from Harry's mouth. Once he was freed of it, Harry gasped, coughing and gulping in great lungfuls of air. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Bella asked sweetly as she relished the sight of blood, tears and mucus oozing slowly down Harry's face.

Harry could say nothing as he continued to take in ragged breaths. He was trying so hard to be quiet and not cry, but he was frightened and his forehead throbbed.

"Ooh, you _are_ a brave ickle Gryffindork, aren't you dear Harrykins?" cooed Bella mockingly, "and you won't cry out when I leave, will you?"

Harry made to shake his head, but winced at the resulting pain and stilled. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, and then he froze, horrorstruck, as he saw his crimson-covered knuckles. He looked up at Bellatrix and whispered hoarsely, "D-dat da…bad bud, Yiwee?"

"Yes, Harry," said Bellatrix sagely. She took his hand, bringing it to her face for a deep whiff. "Tsk, tsk. What. A. Shame," she sighed, her face in an exaggerated moue. "Dear, dear. It's much worse than I realized. There is _so_ _much_ bad blood in there, I don't know if it can all come out in one go." Harry just blinked, not understanding and Bella leaned in closer and looked again. "Yes, I'm certain that it can't. Poor Harry. I am _so_ sorry."

"Da Secet Magic not work?" Harry whispered plaintively, his rising panic evident on his face.

"I'm so sorry dear. I know you don't want to turn bad."

"No! No – my no wanna hurt my fends, Yiwee," pleaded Harry softly, blood-tinged tears falling anew.

Bella shook her head slowly. "I was so certain it would work. If only we could try again."

Harry looked up at her hopefully.

"…But it would be very dangerous if Madam Pomfrey or Hagrid found out about this."

And there was that hopeful look again. _Pathetic Gryffindors._ Bella looked at him with a smug smile of satisfaction and tried to contain herself. "Rest now, Harry. I'm sure we'll think of something. Try not to worry," she cooed, continuing to whisper insincere reassurances.

Harry's breathing – though still ragged – slowed and his eyes began to droop.

"Good boy. Close your eyes."

Harry did so with relief. He felt so tired, so overwhelmed. All he wanted to do was succumb to sleep, and this he did, drifting into a restless slumber.

_This ought to earn you a one-way ticket to St. Mungo's_, thought Bellatrix with glee as she unwrapped herself and covered Harry with the duvet. She looked down at the boy again and straightened out his covers almost lovingly. _And from there, we shall be well on our way, ickle Potty._ She transfigured into her Animagus form and said lowly, "Gullible little twerp," before settling down on the bed for what she felt to be a most well-earned rest.


	17. Bad Blood

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer**: Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary**: Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old. Ever so slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**Warnings:** Self-injurious behaviour.

**Chapter 17: Bad Blood**

"…Yes I _know_ that, Hagrid. I heard you the first three times and I am very appreciative of that. But I still will not have that creature in my rooms for one moment longer than is necessary." Madam Pomfrey spoke in hushed tones as she opened the door to the nursery. Hagrid followed her in as she softly cast "_Lumos Minimus_."

Harry was curled up with his back to the door; the jarvey was lying beside him.

"Good. He's asleep," whispered Pomfrey. "Hagrid? If you would…?" she gestured to the jarvey.

Just as Hagrid reached out to the creature, it leapt up over Harry's body and began licking at his face. Harry didn't even so much as stir.

"Uhg! That's disgusting," whispered Pomfrey harshly. "Hagrid, get that thing _off_ him at once!"

Hagrid lunged, but the jarvey easily dodged the half-giant's grasp. It scampered off the bed and away, and Hagrid followed suite.

Pomfrey reached Harry's bedside. What she saw next momentarily froze her in her tracks: the wound Harry's forehead was open and raw, and his face was covered in blood. "Oh my stars!" she cried and pointed her wand to the door, shouting, "_Accio Medibag!_"

Harry twitched slightly at the sound and the feel of someone's hand pulling on his shoulder and turning him onto his back. Not fully awake, he was vaguely aware that his head hurt and his face felt itchy. He scrubbed at his eyes with his fists, dislodging bits of semi-congealed blood and sank back into slumber.

By this time, Hagrid had caught the jarvey and also dropped her at Madam Pomfrey's startled exclamation. "Wha's wrong?" he gasped as the creature scampered unnoticed under the bed and Pomfrey's medibag flew into her waiting hand.

"He's covered in blood!" She hissed as she snatched the bag open and pulled out a cloth and mild cleansing potion. She could not use a Scourgify charm, for she and the Healers at St. Mungo's had agreed it was best not to use spell magic directly on Harry's curse wound – there were simply too many unknowns to risk it. "What could have hap – If that _weasel_ did this to him…" she threatened as she continued gently wiping Harry's face.

Hagrid shook his head in disbelief. "I never shoulda' let him near tha' jarvey. Oh, wha' have I done?" said Hagrid, woefully wringing his hands together.

Ignoring Hagrid's dismay, Pomfrey continued to wipe Harry's cheeks and forehead. Harry began to awaken under her gentle ministrations with the cool cloth. He blinked a few times and saw his guardian, face lined with concern, leaning over him.

"P-Pomfee?"

"It's alright now, Harry. I just need to finish cleaning your face, dear." She spoke with a calmness she did not at all feel. "Harry? Can you tell me what happened?"

"Wha- what?" As awareness slowly returned to Harry, he reached up to his face. Madam Pomfrey gently pushed his hand away.

"Let me clean you off first, dear."

"My…? Oh. My booboo!" Harry's eyes flew open in a panic.

"Relax Harry." Madam Pomfrey patted his chest reassuringly. "You're going to be just fine," she soothed.

Memories of what Lily had told him came rushing to the fore. Was it too late? Had it happened already? He didn't _feel_ like a bad boy. "My don be a good boy," he whispered to himself.

"Yes, dear," soothed Pomfrey. She'd finished cleaning his face and was taking out a sharp smelling salve from her bag. "You are being very good, indeed."

"Otay, den," murmured Harry contentedly, closing his eyes.

After she finished applying the salve, Pomfrey pulled out some soft cotton bandaging. "But Harry, you need to tell me what happened. How did you get hurt?"

Harry opened his eyes again and looked at her, then shut them tight pressing his lips together. _My no tell_, he thought to himself.

"Harry? It's alright. I won't be angry." Pomfrey was certain Harry was trying to protect his jarvey from getting into trouble. "Look at me, Harry. You need to tell me what happened."

Harry obeyed the first command and looked into his guardian's worried eyes. But then he looked away.

"Are you looking for Darvey, Harry?" she asked.

He hadn't been, but now he wanted to snuggle his pet for comfort, so he nodded slowly in answer.

"Did Darvey do something naughty, Harry?" Pomfrey had to force herself to speak in a calm tone.

"Darvey? No, she not," Harry said, raising his head slightly to look for the creature.

"Lie back down, Harry," Pomfrey patted his chest and he complied. "It's alright. I just need to know what happened. Did Darvey hurt you?"

Harry turned to look at her in shock. "No! Darvey not hurt my. She a good darvey."

Madam Pomfrey sighed and looked over her shoulder up at Hagrid. "Did you catch it?" she asked softly.

Hagrid had just been standing transfixed, mired in misery at the thought that he was the cause of all this. He had forgotten all about catching the jarvey. He hastily cleared his throat. "Erm, oh. Uh, I'm onnit. I'll find her right now, Madam Pomfrey."

"You'd best find her before I do," said Pomfrey darkly as she pressed a cotton square over Harry's wound and gently lifted his head to wrap a longer bandage around him.

Harry winced at this but it was not from pain – the salve had numbed that – it was from fear. Harry held his tongue. He knew that letting his caregiver stop the bleeding was wrong, but he didn't know what to do about it without saying something that would get her sent to the bad place which Lily warned him about.

Hagrid had decided to look under the bed first. "Oh. Got her!" he called, pulling out a wriggling ball of fur.

"I've seen cleaner nails on a rusted hovel," snapped the jarvey, trying to twist out of Hagrid's firm hold.

"Darvey! Ahgi, no hurt Darvey!" wailed Harry trying to sit up.

"Lay still, Harry," admonished Pomfrey, pressing him back again.

"I'll not harm her, Harry. Don' you worry."

Watching this exchange, Pomfrey was more convinced than ever that Harry was covering for his pet. "I'm sure she'll be fine Harry," said Pomfrey primly, "but Hagrid and Darvey have to go home now. It's getting very late. Isn't that right, Hagrid?"

"Right, er. Very late. 'Night, now," said Hagrid, making a hasty retreat with the jarvey tucked securely under his arm.

"D'bye Darvey," sniffed Harry. "D'bye Ahgi."

As Harry sadly watched them go, Pomfrey made up a bottle with Blood-Replenishing Potion and 'Sleepy Juice', as Harry called it. "Now you need some sleep as well, Harry," she said kindly. "Drink up. We'll talk more about this in the morning."

Harry took the bottle and began to drink. The sleeping draught began to take effect immediately, and the bottle slipped from his hands. Pomfrey held it for him and lovingly stroked his cheek till he had finished.

The next morning after breakfast, no amount of coaxing, cajoling or even threats of withholding treacle and Quidditch could get Harry to cooperate and talk about how he had been hurt. Pomfrey felt certain that it wasn't that Harry didn't know what had happened, rather that he was refusing to say. The more Pomfrey asked, the more upset Harry became, though he tried to hide it.

The Nurse was at a loss. Could Harry have done this to himself? Had it been an accident. Was it just that his scab had been itching him? Once or twice she had caught Harry picking at his scabbed knees, but he hadn't been as…thorough – and he certainly hadn't cared for the resulting pain. She hadn't thought he would do something like that again. No. It must have been the jarvey. And Harry was showing a fierce loyalty – that his 'older' self was so well known for – in protecting the creature.

That evening, as she was bathing him, Pomfrey decided to try a different tact. "You know Harry," she began, "sometimes when animals, er, accidentally hurt people – hurt their friends – it's a sign that they might be sick and need a Healer to help them."

Harry did not respond, he just continued lifting and submerging his outspread hand in the water, watching the bubbles dribble off.

Pomfrey tried again. "Harry, when you have a pet like Darvey, you have a responsibility to take good care of it." That got Harry's attention; he stopped playing with the bubbles and looked up solemnly at his caregiver. "If something is wrong with Darvey, you have to tell me, Harry, so we can help it – er, her, to get better. I know you want to take good care of your jarvey, don't you, Harry." It wasn't a question, rather more of a reassurance, and it was met with silence as Harry's shoulders slumped and he lowered his gaze. Pomfrey sighed and let her mind wander as she washed Harry's back with a flannel. Tomorrow, she would take him to St. Mungo's. Perhaps the Healers there would have better luck getting through to Harry. _But what if they couldn't?_ It was a sobering thought.

After the bath, as Pomfrey was helping Harry to towel off, he broke his silence.

"My do," he said softly. "My take good care of Darvey. My help Ahgi give her a baff and feed her. My do 'good boy' fings."

But that was all he would say, and he looked troubled the rest of the evening. It was with a heavy heart that Pomfrey kissed him goodnight, and later, in her own bed, sleep eluded the Hogwarts Nurse as her mind went over and over the events of the previous evening. Realizing it was pointless to stay in bed, she rose, donned her dressing robe and went to her writing desk to compose a letter to owl to St. Mungo's.

As soon as Pomfrey had incanted "Nox," and closed the door most of the way, Harry opened his eyes. He could see the thin line of light from the parlor's torchères fall across the foot of his bed. He lay quite still, listening to the comfortingly familiar sounds of Madam Pomfrey moving about the suite. When he heard her close her bedroom door, he let out a breath. He knew what he had to do. He pushed his bandage up and gingerly touched his forehead, wincing at the contact. The wound felt different now. Unfamiliar, and somehow… unfriendly. It no longer had a hard, bumpy surface. It was a bit soft, and puckered some at the edges, and it was beginning to throb under even this light touch. Eyes watering, Harry took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to marshal himself. With a trembling hand Harry started to drag his fingernails across the wound, but stopped short as the pain caused him to cry out. He clenched his teeth against making further noise and before he could think what to do, he heard the click of Madam Pomfrey's bedroom door opening, followed by her rapidly approaching footfalls. In a panic, Harry pulled the bandage down over his forehead and turned so his back was to the door. Of its own accord, Harry's thumb made its way into his mouth, and he sucked on it nervously.

Pomfrey opened the door, incanting "_Lumos Minimus_." She waited in the doorway a moment, listening to the sounds of Harry sucking his thumb. She had set a simple monitoring spell on the nursery to alert her if Harry called for her. Perhaps he was just having a nightmare? Pomfrey pocketed her wand and went to straighten Harry's covers. As she leaned over, she could see that his eyes were squeezed tightly shut and he was clutching his Draco sleeve. _Awake then._ Pomfrey sighed. Why wouldn't Harry talk to her? She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "It will be alright, Harry," she murmured, "it _will_ be," and she went back to finish her letter.

Harry waited for – what seemed to him, at least – a very long time, until he felt certain that Pomfrey was asleep. Then he pushed his bandage out of the way and set on beginning anew. Gathering his courage, Harry slowly began to feed a corner of his Draco sleeve into his mouth as Lily had shown him. When he could add no more he bit down on the cloth and took deep breaths through his nose. Harry knew he had to do this. He _would_ do this. He _had_ to get rid of his bad blood before somebody got hurt from it.

Harry raised his hand to the wound and his breath quickened in concert with his rising fear. And then his nails were scratching, again and again, until he felt the wetness of the tainted blood on his shaking fingers. He cried silently into his gag as he felt the blood, warm and sticky, creep down the sides of his face and over his temples. Harry's head throbbed and he bit down harder on his gag, but could not stop his sobs. It was getting harder to breath through the mucus clogging his nose, so with still trembling hands he pulled out his gag and tried to breathe through his tears quietly.

The pain was receding back to a dull throb and Harry began to calm down. As his mind wandered to thoughts of things Lily had told him, he began to feel rather lightheaded. Harry was only mildly aware of the tickling sensation, as the blood continued oozing it's path down the sides of his head to pool on the pillow sham in back of his neck as he drifted into sleep.

Pomfrey put down her quill and closed up the inkwell. She cast a drying spell on the parchment and called for Dobby to bring the letter up to the owlry to send to St. Mungo's. Her missive was thorough, letting the Healers know in detail all she knew of what had happened to Harry and asking if they might meet her there the next day – which was Sunday. Before she went to bed, Pomfrey stopped to check in on her charge. She opened the door to the nursery the rest of the way and saw in the dimness that Harry's bedcovers had fallen off his shoulders. As she went closer and reached out to fix them she saw blood on Harry's face.

"Accio medibag!" she gasped, and then cast a Lumos. "Oh, Harry? _What_ is going on?" Pomfrey's bag zipped into her waiting hand and she immediately took up and dampened a cloth with a whispered, "_Aguamenti_," gently began wiping away the blood.

Harry stirred slightly at the light invading through his closed lids. "Pomfee?" he whispered, his eyes fluttering. When he realized what Madam Pomfrey was doing he pushed her hands away crying, "No! 'Top!"

"I can't stop, Harry, you're bleeding again. But it's going to be alright, just let me clean you off –"

"NO!" Harry's voice was desperate and the panic was evident on in his eyes.

Misunderstanding the cause of his distress, Madam Pomfrey soothed, "It's alright, Harry dear. You know I'll be very gentle, and I'll put a bandage on it to stop the bleeding and the hurting. You'll be right as rain in no time."

She reached forward to wash him and again Harry pushed her hands away, pleading, "No, Pomfee, you tan't, da bad b-" Instantly, Harry's hands flew to his mouth. He heard Lily's warning in his head. His eyes filled with tears as he realized that he'd almost gotten Madam Pomfrey sent away. He was turning bad already! Harry grabbed his covers up and turned away from the Nurse, panting, "M-my dus wanna...doe seep! My tired, Pomfee!"

Pomfrey pulled the covers back down, "Let me finish taking care of you, Harry, and then you can."

In response, Harry hunched his shoulders up and squeezed his eyes shut, his face in a grimace. Pomfrey pulled gently on Harry's shoulder to turn him over. He curled up more tightly and wouldn't budge. Using her no-nonsense voice, Madam Pomfrey addressed her charge, "Harry James Potter, you will stop this at once and mind me!" She took a deep breath and continued in a kinder tone, "Now turn over so I can reach you properly. Would you like some 'Sleepy Juice'?" she asked.

In a barely audible whisper, Harry pleaded, "Pease leave my alone, Pomfee. My doe back a'seep now. My don wake up a _good_ boy!""

Pomfrey tried again to turn the boy over, but to no avail. She knew she needed help, so she called on the one creature who would and could come to assist Harry at anytime day or night. "Dobby, Harry needs you!" she called out.

The House-elf appeared instantly with a 'Pop'. Harry looked over his shoulder to see the new arrival, and Dobby's face turned from one of eager earnestness to utter dismay when he saw Harry's condition. "Oh, no! Poor Harry Potter is hurt!"

"He is, Dobby. I need you to help me turn him over so I can clean and bandage his wound. He's quite a bit frightened, Dobby," and to Harry she added, "But you needn't be, Harry. Everything is going to be alright," she said with as cheerful a tone as she could muster. "Now you can hold Dobby's hands and squeeze them tight if you're scared. Dobby won't mind, will you, Dobby?"

"Oh, no, Dobby is not minding at all! Dobby wants to help Harry Potter in any way he can." Dobby hopped up on the bed and reached for Harry's hands, but Harry pulled away. Looking up with a mixture of confusion and concern on his face, Dobby said, "Miss Nurse Madam Pomfrey? Mr. Harry Potter is not wanting to hold Dobby's hands?"

Madam Pomfrey swallowed and said, "He is very afraid, Dobby. But if you truly are his friend and want to help him, take his hands and don't let go."

The house-elf nodded solemnly at this and firmly took Harry's hands in his own. "Hold Dobby's Hands, Harry Potter. Dobby is helping you now."

Harry tried to pull free, but Dobby only looked at him sadly and held fast. Harry didn't know what to do. He pressed his lips together and shook his head – which only served to make it ache more. He was afraid to speak; afraid that anything he might say would cause Madam Pomfrey or Dobby to disappear to a bad place as Lily had warned him. He bit his lips to keep from talking, and as Madam Pomfrey cleaned his face, all Harry could do to try to avoid her relentless flannel was to turn his head this way and that way. But the Nurse was persistent, and despite his attempts to evade her and his streaming tears, she had him washed, re-salved and bandaged in no time.

"All done now, Harry. Dobby, you may let go. And thank you," said the Nurse sincerely.

By this time, Harry was sobbing openly. As soon as Dobby released him, Harry's hands flew up to pull off his new bandage, and he started scratching at the raw wound again, crying out more at the pain.

"Harry, NO!" shouted Madam Pomfrey, grabbing at his wrists. "What are you doing?"

But Harry pulled away and succeeded in reopening the wound, begging,"Leave my alone, _pease_ Pomfee! _Pease_! _Pease_!" He shut his eyes tight and continued the mantra, his voice getting ever louder and more frantic.

Pomfrey shouted over Harry's cries. "Dobby, help me hold him still -- he's hysterical!" She was feeling a bit hysterical herself and she quickly stifled the feeling. "Accio clean baby bottle!" she cried as the House Elf took Harry by the wrists and crossed them over the boy's chest to immobilize him. Pomfrey deftly caught the flying bottle. Opening it quickly, she poured a fast-acting sleeping draught from her medibag into it before replacing the top. All the while Harry was thrashing and wailing. Pomfrey took this opportunity to pop the bottle's nipple into Harry's open mouth and leaned upon his shoulder to pet his cheek. "Drink this, Harry. It will help you feel better." Harry opened his eyes, but he was beyond listening. He refused to close his mouth around the nipple and instead tried to push it out with his tongue and move his head away. Pomfrey cast a charm to soften the glass bottle to allow her to squeeze out some of the draught.

Harry felt the bitter potion on his tongue as a few drops leaked out and he shrank back into his pillow, shaking his head and trying to escape. More fluid came into his mouth and Harry coughed, trying desperately but unsuccessfully not to swallow. Once the first drops of potion had slid down his throat there was an immediate effect. Harry's thrashing slowed and stopped. His breath hitched as he fought the effects. A few more drops swallowed and Harry's lids half closed. Pomfrey continued squeezing out drams of potion, which Harry swallowed unresistingly until the bottle was drained. When Poppy pulled it out, Harry slurred a last pitiable "Pease… leave my 'lone," before his eyes closed and a deep sleep enveloped him.

Madam Pomfrey stood frozen for a moment, just watching Harry as Dobby backed off of the bed. Then she took in a deep shuddering breath and dropped the bottle. She looked at it oddly, as though not connecting the noise it made as it shattered on the floor with any action on her part. "Thank you, Dobby. Would you be so kind as to wake the Headmistress for me, and bring us up a strong pot of tea?" Dobby nodded in uncharacteristic silence and vanished with a somehow subdued 'Pop'.

By the time the House-elf returned, Madam Pomfrey had Scourgified Harry's pillow sham, bedding, pyjamas and his Draco-sleeve. She had tucked him under the covers and reluctantly applied a sticking charm to them, so that Harry wouldn't be able to pull off his bandage and harm himself again.

"Is the Headmistress on her way, Dobby?" she asked lowering herself into the nursery's rocker and accepting a tea cup from the house-elf.

"Dobby is sorry, Nurse Madam Pomfrey. But Headmistress McGonagall was not in her chambers. Winky is telling Dobby that Headmistress McGonagall joined the search for some third year Gryffindors who were being very naughty and going out to the Forbidden Forest."

Pomfrey took a long draught of the steaming liquid. It scalded her tongue, though she hardly noticed. She let out another deep sigh and sat back in the chair.

"Is Harry Potter being alright now, Nurse Madam Pomfrey?"

"I wish I knew, Dobby... I hope so."


	18. Exit The Dragon

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton**

**Disclaimer**: Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary**: Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old. Ever so slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

Chapter 18: Exit the Dragon

Harry sleepily opened his mouth to receive his thumb, but something was impeding its arrival. Harry opened his eyes. It was dark, but he could tell he was not in his nursery. It smelled a bit like his napping room at St. Mungo's. He weakly tried to pull his arm out from under the bedcovers with no success. Though they were not uncomfortably tight, they did hold him down quite securely. The small effort left him exhausted.

"Pomfee?" he whispered, and tried once again to get free. "Pomfee. Uh! Uh - my 'tuck." Harry stopped struggling and lay still, breathing heavily. Soon his breaths evened out as he drifted back to sleep, a frown marring his features.

_His eyes traveled slowly down his sleeve as the blood-darkened stone fell from numb hands. The visage at his feet was barely recognizable; nonetheless, he knew the man. It was Healer Vanes. His skull was half smashed in; the remaining eye stared blankly upward. _

"_What have you done now, boyo?"_

_Nurse Harcort's sharp tone startled him and he took a faltering step back. Panic gripped his heart as he saw Harcourt gliding towards him with long, ragged robes floating about him._

_Instinct took over. He pushed himself up and sprinted away from the rancid thing, but slipped suddenly, landing face first in a wide puddle …what was it? Human remains. More ever than could have come from Vanes' body. He tried to scramble away, but felt a cold, bony hand grip his ankle. He was trapped. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the offal beneath him, and he heard the raspy breath of the Dementor drawing ever closer, until he felt its putrid exhalation on his neck._

Draco sat numbly in the waiting area, staring between his knees at the floor. His school Nurse, Madam Pomfrey was there. He briefly wondered why. For Harry? Harry… Draco watched her leaving Vanes' office and promptly faded out.

"Thank you, Healer Vanes," said Madam Pomfrey. "I'll just Floo back to Hogwarts to gather some of Harry's things. We'll see you a bit later, then?"

Healer Vanes nodded curtly as she left and turned his attention to Draco. He led the unresisting boy into his office and bade him sit before casting "_Enervate_."

Draco blinked and cast about to get his bearings. Ah. Healer Vanes' office. Perhaps then not too much time had passed and no one had noticed his 'absence'.

"Why was the nurse from Hogwarts here?" he asked the Healer.

"I am not at liberty to discuss my other cases with you, Draco, as I am sure you know. I am curious, however, was she the reason you 'left us' just now?"

_Damn. _"I don't know," Draco said sullenly, and he attempted to affect indifference.

"I disagree," was the Healer's smug rejoinder.

"I don't," he ground out, clenching his hands by his thighs.

"Come now, Draco," the Healer said smoothly, "you aren't going to get very far if you don't start taking more of an interest in your recovery."

"I don't ca–"

"Cease! 'I don't care' is not an acceptable response."

Draco looked up at the man in surprise. Vanes' voice had risen in anger for the first time since Draco had met him. _More confrontation, then…_ Draco felt the familiar numbness settle over him and his eyes lost their focus. He let out an unrealized sigh of relief as his mind descended. But again he was jarred out of his peaceful retreat by the Healer, and after a few minutes of silence the man spoke to him.

"You cannot stay here forever, Draco," Vanes said gently.

Draco wiped at his stinging eyes. "I have nowhere to go," he said simply, and let his mind drift away again.

Vanes stared at the boy's glassy-eyed expression and let his shoulders slump uncharacteristically. Unsurprisingly, the boy had faded out again. This was already happening entirely too often, and now it was with increasing frequency. The Healer made his way to his desk, arranged himself comfortably in his seat and dipped his quill into the cauldron-shaped inkwell before scratching it across the scroll in small, precise letters.

___________________________________________________________

**Observations:**

The patient is afraid to progress, likely due to his legitimate fear that progression would lead to his release from St. Mungo's (and possible subsequent incarceration) into a society where others will scorn him as much as he hates himself.

**Recommendations:**

Patient D. requires an external goal to start with: a position of some responsibility. A task he can succeed at. This may well allow him to begin to develop a sense of self-worth…

___________________________________________________________

When he had finished updating his report, Vanes took out his wand, pointed it at Draco and whispered, "_Legillimens_." What he saw enraged him to the very core.

_Lucius Malfoy's vicious attack on Harry and then on his own son._

_Draco defending himself and Harry – unintentionally killing his father. _

_Ronald Weasley's look of utter hatred as he grabbed and roughly bound Draco. _

_Draco's shame at his body's reaction to Harry's proximity. _

_Headmistress McGonagall's steely mistrust and obvious dislike of Draco. _

_Harry's teary-eyed 'Goodbye'._

_Draco's gross mistreatment at the hands of the Aurors and his prison guards._

A highly unconventional plan began to form in the Healer's mind. "Come with me, Draco," the Healer said, guiding the compliant boy into the corridor.

Vanes came to a stop outside the door to a private patient's room. "Draco." He shook the boy's shoulder and called to him again, "Draco, come back now."

Draco blinked and looked around at his unfamiliar surroundings. He'd just been in Vanes' office. He had faded out again, without even trying to. This was bad. Very bad. His head throbbed horribly. Had he been Enervated? How much time he had lost, Draco could not say. Then he became aware that Healer Vanes was speaking to him in low tones.

Vanes took out a small grey phial from his robes. "Drink this. It will alleviate your headache." He uncorked the phial and handed it to Draco, who took the proffered remedy, downing it slowly. Vanes banished the empty bottle.

"That's better. Now, what I am about to do is highly unorthodox – even by Complimentary Medical standards. However, I think that you may be of some help to me with my newest patient…"

Draco was entirely uninterested and on the verge of another mental retreat when he heard Vanes' last words.

"…Harry Potter."

Vanes was pleased to see his words had had the desired effect. He had Draco's full and present attention. Examining the chart by the door, Vanes noted that the monitoring spell listed Potter as 'Sleeping – Charm-induced', and he said lowly, "He is asleep at the moment. Would you like to see him?"

Draco swallowed back his warring shame and desire, barely nodding in reply and following Vanes in, determined to maintain his composure.

The Healer opened the door to reveal a single hospital cot on which lay Harry Potter. The coverlet was tucked up to his chin, and Vanes knew from reading the chart that it was held there by a sticking charm. He let Draco stare for a bit, before tapping the boy's arm lightly in signal that it was time to leave.

Draco did not want to leave. Even in sleep, Harry looked…troubled. "Is he alright?" asked Draco softly when they were again in the corridor. "What happened to him?" Had someone attacked the Boy Who Lived? That hardly seemed likely, given the security he must surely be under. Had he been in an accident?

"That is yet to be determined," Vanes' expression was frustratingly unreadable. And this merely served to agitate Draco. Vague answers, again!

"Why do you have to be so bloody cryptic!" he hissed, as they walked towards the lift.

Vanes only arched an eyebrow at Draco's outburst. "I am merely stating fact," the Healer replied. "And here is another fact: I have been reviewing your school records –"

Draco's heart sank at this. He was beginning to think that in Vanes he had finally found someone who did not despise him on sight. However, Draco knew full well that his behaviour in sixth year would surely disavow Vanes of any such notion.

At the boy's crestfallen look, Vanes held up a hand and proceeded.

" – and they indicate to me that you are in possession of innate leadership qualities. In point of fact, you could, if you so desired, be a role model for some of your fellow ward-mates – that is if you weren't so completely focused on yourself. You could help me with Mr Potter, for example."

Draco's head shot up so fast his neck cracked audibly – though he didn't spare so much as a wince. Now more than ever, did this man remind Draco of his Godfather, Severus. It hurt to think of that loss. Almost a year had passed since Severus had been discovered as a double agent and murdered by his 'fellow' Death Eaters. Draco's hurt came out as anger, which he readily directed at the smug Healer standing before him.

"Sod off. I know what you're trying to do."

"Indeed," was the dry reply.

"You're just trying to distract me so I don't try to off myself again!" Draco hated being manipulated – ironic, since that was one of the things he himself had excelled at back at school in Slytherin.

"Hm. Is it working?"

This attitude caught Draco off guard. He didn't like that much; it raised something within. "That has yet to be determined," he answered, mimicking the Healer's tone of earlier. This was met, Draco noted, with a look of approval from the Healer.

For his part, Vanes felt that if Draco's Slytherin instincts were at least coming to the fore, he was doing alright for the present. "Let us retire to my office to discuss this further."

Draco followed Vanes in silence for as long as he could stand it. But finally he blurted out, "How can _I_ possibly be of help to _him_?"

"To whom?" asked Vanes absently.

"To Harry-bloody-Potter, blast you. You know what I'm talking about!" Draco shouted, half exasperated, half afraid. He looked around to see if anyone had heard his outburst, but the corridor was empty but for them.

Vanes said nothing more as they walked the rest of the way to his office. Draco followed him in, fists clenched tightly and he stiffly took a seat when asked to. Vanes used his wand to send a locking charm and uttered, "_Muffliato_," before speaking. "What I am about to tell you is not to go beyond this room. I am telling you this in the strictest confidence, and your silence on this is imperative." He paused a moment, treating Draco with a penetrating look. "I will require an Oath of you."

Draco shivered. The man looked not just serious, but dangerous, again bringing the memory of Severus Snape to Draco's mind. If he did not know for certain that Snape was dead, he might have entertained the notion… No. The very idea was ridiculous. Draco shook the thought away and answered solemnly, "Yes, sir. You have my word…as a wizard."

"Very well," Vanes said, lowering himself into his chair. "It seems that Mr Potter, Harry, has been engaging in some self-injurious behaviours.

Draco felt as though he had been hit in the gut with a bludger. A softly whispered, "Oh," was all he could manage.

"I intend to determine why he is doing this, and to do so, I need to gain his trust rather quickly. To that end, I think that if you accompany me, it will ease my path. He appears to have some measure of affection for you."

Draco turned red and swallowed hard as he recalled what Granger had said about Harry thinking Draco was his protector – because of Lucius. He began to fade.

"Draco! Stay with me, Dragon!"

Draco froze. _No._ This man _couldn't_ be Snape. Could he? Snape was dead. Killed by Death Eaters. It was a known fact. Draco desperately wanted to ask Vanes how he knew the name, "Dragon." But then, Vanes' eyes bore into Draco's and he was struck dumb.

Vanes' eyes narrowed as he continued to hold Draco's gaze. "Tell me, Draco, what would have happened if you had not intervened that day in the forbidden forest? What would have happened to _Harry_?"

Draco wanted to look away, but he simply could not. "I-I don't want to talk about that," he stammered.

"What would have happened if you'd just kept your place?" The question had multiple meanings, they both knew. "Safely hidden?"

Draco tried to stave off the flashbacks threatening to overwhelm him. He jerked his head sharply, as if to dislodge the oncoming images and took a step back from Vanes. "I want to go back to my room, now." His eyes were wild, panicked.

"You could have just left, and avoided all this," Vanes spread his hands out. "You didn't have to do anything. No one would have known. What sort of Slytherin were you being?" He took a step towards Draco, who retreated further until he could retreat no more, his back flush against the door.

"Stop…" Draco pressed a hand to his head, trying to banish the images, but they kept surfacing in violent flashes.

"What would Lucius have done?"

Draco took his head in both hands, He gripped his hair as he jerked his head from side to side. _Don't, blast it. Get out of my head – get _out_!_

"Tell me!" shouted Vanes, startling Draco to stillness. "What was your father going to do to Harry Potter, who lay there completely helpless and at Lucius' 'mercy'." sneered Vanes.

Draco looked at Vanes and slowly sank to his knees. "Don't…" he said, but he expected no mercy for himself either. Vanes was supposed to be a Healer, supposed to help Draco. But he was just like all the others after all, cruel and relentless.

"Say it, Draco! You _must_ face it!" Vanes' voice was more of an entreaty now.

Defeated, Draco could not face the man. "I… I can't."

"You _can_. You are a Slytherin. You are strong. And you are _not_ alone, Dragon." His words were softer now. Still firm, but also… kind.

"Wh-who _are_ you?" Draco asked incredulously. None but his parents and his godfather ever called him 'Dragon'.

The Healer got on his knees to be level with Draco, and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "You know who I am, Dragon. And _I_ know who you are.

"Now tell me the truth. What was your father preparing to do as Harry lay incapacitated, unable to defend himself?"

"No. No… but I…_killed_ him. S-Severus?"

The Healer looked at him in silence for but a moment. "Yes," he said simply, and Draco swayed and would have fallen over had not the man pulled him close. "Yes, Draco, you _did_ kill him. And you _did_ have a choice. And now, I ask you again: Tell. Me. What did you choose to do – and _why_?"

"He didn't care that Mother was d-dead. I was so _angry_ with him." Draco was crying softly, trying to stifle it.

"That's not what I asked you, Dragon."

H-He was going to kill Harry. To slaughter him like – but, I k-killed him, Severus. I murdered father." Draco whispered through his tears.

"Yes. And you chose to save an innocent, helpless boy from a madman. A boy – I might add – to whom we all owe a great dept. What if you hadn't intervened? If you _had_ stayed safely hidden and watched you father commit murder? For _he_ was the one with murderous intentions, not you. Lucius was deranged. He would have been caught eventually, and given the Dementors' Kiss; a fate far worse than death."

"Are you trying to tell me I did him a favour?" Draco barked out a near hysterical laugh at the absurdity of the suggestion.

"In a way, it _was_ a mercy. But however you wish to look at it, the deed is done. And that cannot be changed. Will you now choose to waste away, wallowing in your own misery? Or will you accept what you have done – accept that it was the best choice you could have made at the time? Do you regret that choice? Even now, knowing that Harry was possessed of the mind of a babe at the time?"

Tears streamed anew down Draco's cheeks; he thought had mastered them. "I don't," he whispered. "I don't regret it. And that is the worst part." His whole body was shaking now with the effort of regaining his self-control.

And though Severus Snape was never the demonstrative type, he helped his godson to stand, and led him to the sofa. "Lie down and rest now, Dragon," he said, conjuring a warm throw. And Draco did.

**A/N: **Comment at will… :)

7


	19. Two Clueless Peas In A Pod

**A/N:** The "Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn Ward of St Mungo's was where Mr Weasley went after his snakebite. Hippocrates Smethwyck is listed as the Healer-in-Charge.

Apologies for the inconsistencies with using "Pomfrey" and "Poppy." I am starting to prefer the latter, myself. (Your thoughts on this are most welcome!) I feel there are places where it might be better to use her first name, but since I'd already started out by referring to her as "Pomfrey," there is that dreaded issue of inconsistency…

And most importantly, I hail the return of my beloved and talented beta, Katse_Boston, who pointed out several glaring inconsistencies in the timeline and sequences of events, which I have hopefully corrected.

**Chapter 19: Two (Clueless) Peas In A Pod**

Poppy Pomfrey was thoroughly overtired. As she gathered Harry's security blanket, clothing, a grooming kit and Harry's favorite books, she was interrupted by no less than one half-giant (Harry's 'pet' had gone missing, and Hagrid was inconsolable at the thought of how disappointed Harry would be when he found out), one Headmistress (who insisted on a detailed update on Harry's condition and prognosis) and one house elf (Poppy didn't even want to _think_ about her encounter with Dobby)**.** Once she had dispatched with her three unwelcome visitors, Poppy's mind returned to the unsettling meeting she had just come from. It had been with Perseus Vanes, an insufferable man, but also the Healer who might just hold the key to helping Harry.

~o~ ~o~ ~o~

"Nurse Pomfrey. Have a seat," said the Healer, his tone perfunctory. He remained seated behind his desk and did not look up from his writing when he spoke.

Pomfrey did as she was asked, though she bristled at the title the man had used. She was here as Harry's guardian, and she was not going to perpetuate any archaic hierarchical Healer/Nurse notions this man might harbour.

"It's '_Madam_ Pomfrey,' she corrected primly, taking in her surroundings as she sat in the visitor's chair before the desk. The small office was unusually dark and strangely dank – given that they were on the third floor. It was rather sparse, with just the Healer's desk and chair, the visitor's chair that she was sitting on (which, she fleetingly noticed, was not particularly comfortable) and a dark-coloured settee by the shuttered window. She next studied the Healer himself, who was at this moment continuing to write in a journal of some sort. This was the person who was to help Harry? She had asked both Rose Chang and Hippocrates Smethwyck (the Healer-in-Charge of the "Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn Ward, and a former colleague of Poppy's) to recommend a Mind Healer for Harry, and both had suggested Vanes. Their faith in his ability to help Harry certainly wasn't based on his manners – that much was clear, as the man appeared to be pointedly ignoring her. Pomfrey was so exhausted from the previous evening's upsets that she found herself in a somewhat fragile state. So much so, that in reaction to this Healer's brusqueness, she began to feel much like a schoolgirl at detention. Realizing that she was acting quite unlike herself, she cleared her throat self-consciously, straightened up in her chair and affected her most stern, no nonsense Nurse's voice. "Healer Vanes. I am here about my charge, Harry Potter."

The quill stopped. The Healer closed his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath, which he let out in a huff that somehow managed to convey both scorn and impatience.

Pomfrey's initial reaction was to respond in kind. She could give as good as she got! But she thought better of it; that had been her fatigue talking. If this man could help heal her Harry, then she could endure a bit of churlishness.

"You come highly recommended by two colleagues whom I deeply respect," she continued.

The Healer set his quill down and met Madam Pomfrey's steady gaze with one of his own. With no preamble, he said, "I wish to perform Legillimency on Mr Potter."

Pomfrey sat stunned for a full minute, and once again, had to quash her first impulse. By the smug, measured look he gave her, she could tell that Vanes was quite aware of that fact. She closed her eyes and took her own deep breath.

"I hardly think that Legillimency is a safe course of action."

When the Healer made no reply, Pomfrey looked up in time to see him trade his glare for an affectation of patience.

Pomfrey continued, attempting to appear unperturbed. _For Harry_, she reminded herself. "I'm sorry. Of course I meant no offense. Your reputation is impeccable, it's just that I understand you primarily work with adolescents, and Harry here is… well he's a great deal younger than he appears. And because so little is understood about his brain injury, the Healers who initially treated Harry ruled out Legillimency, as it is not performed on young children for fear it might interfere with their still developing –" Pomfrey saw the Healer's eyes narrowing, and realized too late that she was rambling. What was _wrong_ with her? She added a hasty finish, "Though I'm sure you must be aware of Prewett's case studies…"

"I do have occasion to glance at _The Prophet_ from time to time," Vanes replied icily. Harry's condition had been front-page news for weeks on end. "And, I _am_ in the habit of reading my patients' charts before seeing them – strange as that might seem to you."

Despite her resolve to remain absolutely calm, Madam Pomfrey felt her cheeks heat in anger.

"Further, I am well versed in the theories of Kimberly Prewett's treatise on Legillimency and its effects in early childhood _and_ I have taken that into account. I am not suggesting that I go plowing through the boy's mind like a niffler after gold. I _do_ fully understand the risks involved in using Legillimency on children and victims of trauma – of which Harry is both."

Pomfrey started unexpectedly at that. It had been such a long time since she had thought of Harry as a trauma victim. But he _was_ as a trauma victim. Traumatized. _Again. _She clenched her jaw and held herself in check, saying nothing.

"I want to meet the boy first, of course, before I consider proceeding with Legillimency. Additionally, I need to build up Mr Potter's trust in me in order to avert the stresses that might otherwise accompany this avenue of treatment. I have in mind a number of effective strategies for accomplishing this." The Healer stopped speaking abruptly. "Are you quite alright, Madam? You look too pale of a sudden."

"I am quite well, thank you," Pomfrey swallowed. "Please. Continue," she said, nodding and sitting up straighter. When had she slid down in her seat?

"Do you have very much experience with Legillimency, Madam Pomfrey?" Vanes' voice then was, if not kinder, less…hard.

"I do not, Healer Vanes."

"I assure you I do not go into this lightly, Madam Pomfrey. As I stated before, I do understand the severity of this situation. _Whomsoever_ the patient may be in particular is of no consequence to me." Vanes paused to clear his throat. "But I have found, in my extensive work with the orphaned and abandoned children of Death Eaters," and here the Healer paused to make his point, "that opening up to Legillimency performed by a trusted mentor can be cathartic. It can be a catalyst to recovery."

Pomfrey sat in uncustomary silence, numbed by the severity of the situation. Though it was unfathomable, Harry _was_ hurting himself.

"Will you give your consent to permit this course of action?"

As she opened her mouth to reply though, Vanes held up a hand to forestall her answer. "_And_ allow me to proceed as I see fit, _without_ _interference_?"

She closed her mouth, swallowed her objections, and said simply, "Please proceed, Healer."

Vanes nodded solemnly. "Then I will come to meet Harry after my scheduled appointments."

As Pomfrey stood to leave the Healer's office, she said, "Thank you, Healer Vanes. I'll just Floo back to Hogwarts to gather some of Harry's things. We'll see you a bit later, then?"

"Indeed," the Healer nodded curtly.

Hastening her steps towards the lift, Pomfrey thought she spied the Malfoy boy in the waiting lounge as she passed. While usually she had continued interest in the welfare of her former patients from the Hogwarts Infirmary, Pomfrey barely spared him a moment's thought before returning to the problem of Harry.

~o~ ~o~ ~o~

Normally, Poppy would have easily brushed aside interruptions and continued on her way. Instead, it had taken considerably longer to gather Harry's things and return to the hospital than she had intended. Wasn't she eager to be back by her charge's side? That was so, yet there was a part of her that dreaded seeing Harry in such a poor state, and so Pomfrey had consoled Hagrid, given Minerva a full accounting of events and tried her best not to hex Dobby before stepping into the floo.

Now that she had returned to St. Mungo's, Poppy clutched the small valise of Harry's belongings tightly under her arm and sped down the long hallway to the lift, Opening the door to his private room, she found Healer Chang casting a diagnostic spell over Harry.

"I stopped off to meet with Perseus Vanes," the Hogwarts Nurse began, coolly.

"I know. I shoulda' warned ya. Has a bit of an attitude, tha' one."

"Hmph. A bit? The man is insufferable," said the Nurse under her breath. More loudly she added, "Well. I expect he will be here shortly to meet Harry."

Rose merely arched an eyebrow. She felt it best not to mention that the Healer in question had, in fact, already visited Harry. He had sent word for her to clear out of Harry's room for a bit, and she didn't relish explaining to her mentor that she had done so without knowing the reason for this 'request'. The irony of how similar Madam Pomfrey and Healer Vanes were was not lost on Rose. She wisely kept this thought to herself and said instead, "I put a sleeping charm on him as you requested – he began t'wake not five minutes past."

"Thank you, Rose. I didn't want him to be frightened if he woke while I was away." As she spoke, Madam Pomfrey set the valise on the foot of Harry's bed and withdrew a piece of dark cloth from it. "Harry's 'security blanket'," Pomfrey explained at Chang's quizzical look. "He calls it his 'Dayco Seeve' – and please, don't ask." She placed it beside his head on the pillow, and brushed Harry's fringe back from his bandage. At that very moment, Healer Vanes entered. _Without so much as a knock or a 'by your leave'_, Pomfrey noted testily.

Her reaction to the new arrival did not go unnoticed by Chang. "Ehrherm," she cleared her throat before speaking. "I'll jus' lift th'sleeping charm an' sticking charm as well, shall I?"

Pomfrey merely nodded. Vanes, who clearly wasted no time on pleasantries, simply stood by and said nothing.

"Uh, _F'nite Incantayt'm_," said Chang breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Well, I'll just leave you to it then, right? I'm certain th'two of you'll be able to sort th'boy out in no time," she said brightly and made a hasty exit.

As soon as the charms were removed, Harry turned on his side, curling up into a fetal position and sucking on his thumb. With his other hand, Harry reached out blindly, feeling for his Draco Sleeve and brought it up to press against his cheek. He let out a contented sigh.

Madam Pomfrey made to wake him, gently touching his shoulder and calling his name. "Harry. Harry, dear. It's time to wake up, now."

Harry stirred and made a sleepy noise in the back of his throat. It took him several more moments to orient himself. "Pah-ee," he slurred around his thumb. "We a'Mungos?"

"Yes, Harry, we are," she answered softly. "Harry? Do you remember what happened last night?"

Harry sucked vociferously on his thumb in response and wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Well, we came to St. Mungo's so the Healers could help you, Harry. "

Harry's eyes roamed the walls and ceiling of the room, but still he made no response.

Pomfrey put her hand over his. "Harry?" she said, voice stronger now. Harry must have sensed the change for he looked up. "I want you to say a proper 'Hello' to Healer Vanes."

Harry slid his thumb out reluctantly "Hullo, sir," he said softly.

"Hello Harry," Vanes nodded in return.

Madam Pomfrey felt a swell of pride at Harry's good manners, particularly given the current circumstances. She smiled down at her charge and patted his hand. "There's a good boy, Harry. Healer Vanes is going to help you – to help _us_ sort this all out."

Harry gave the man a fleeting, wary look before returning his attention to his Draco Sleeve. His thumb had crept back into his mouth.

"Indeed," the healer affirmed. "We shall do precisely that."

~o~

Harry had returned home after two days to a warm reception from Ginny, Ron and Hermione (though Poppy had had to shoo Dobby and his three helpings of treacle pudding out the door before Harry saw him). Harry mustered smiles for his beloved friends but wouldn't say much.

The new trio (as Poppy thought of them with some sadness) did their best to cheer Harry. Ginny had brought him a puzzle with a picture of Wizard Glick trying to fly on a mop, Hermione, unsurprisingly, had a new book for Harry and Ron just looked sort of sheepish, holding a well-used Quaffle. But their efforts were to no avail. It was so painful to watch that Madam Pomfrey eventually sent them off and asked that they take turns visiting over the next few days. She thought it best to make an early night of it, as she didn't want to tax Harry on his first night home.

Even though she knew his bandage was spelled on securely so that Harry couldn't reopen his wound, Poppy herself had a mostly sleepless night, thinking that there was a part of her that wanted Harry to protest his friends leaving or whinge about having to go to bed. To show some defiance. _Anything_ of his old self would have been most welcome.

However, Harry had continued to be anything _but_ himself since they had returned home. His manners were above reproach. He said "Please," "Thank you" or "Okay" to everything, though there were markedly fewer "please's. " And that was because Harry never asked for things anymore. Not for pumpkin juice or second helpings of pudding. Not for outings with Hagrid. Not for Hermione, Ron and Ginny to read to him or play Quidditch. Not to see the jarvey (which was a relief, given that its whereabouts were unknown), and not even for his Draco Sleeve – though he clung to it each night when he went to bed. He didn't even whinge about having to leave it in his room in the mornings. Gone was the fire from his eyes. Sometimes, when he didn't realize Poppy was looking at him, Harry would raise a hand to his forehead, only to clench his fist and press it to his chest. It was all too baffling.

Poppy was so upset at this new, docile Harry, she was practically relieved when the day of his first session with Healer Vanes had arrived.

~o~

"Hello again, Harry. Madam Pomfrey," Healer Vanes nodded to each in turn.

"Thank you for coming, Healer" said Pomfrey.

"Hullo, sir," said Harry.

"Harry, I would very much like you to take a walk with me. It's a beautiful day, perhaps we could walk to the lake." The Healer cleared his throat.

Harry looked to his guardian, and when she nodded, Harry said flatly, "Otay, sir."

"I'm told you have a fondness for magical creatures. We're sure to see the giant squid this time of year."

"Yes, sir," answered Harry softly.

And then, Severus Snape said something he never thought he would say. To anyone. But most especially not to one Harry Potter. "You are not required to call me 'sir'." He couldn't help but be a little rankled.

"Otay, si– otay den."

"Harry," Madam Pomfrey said as cheerily as she could, "I have some things I must attend to in the Infirmary. You go along with Healer Vanes and I'll see you directly after your walk. Will that be alright, dear?" She knew better than to ask a yes or no question to a youngster, for you invariably got a 'no' in response.

But Harry merely sighed and said, "Otay. Dat be nice." Though he looked like it would be anything but.

Still, he obediently followed Vanes out the door, and when it closed behind them, Poppy took a deep breath and let it out in a sorrowful sigh. She couldn't help but be piqued that Harry went so willingly with that haughty man.

She wondered if Vanes would be able to get anything out of Harry on their walk. She hoped that he would; yet she was also feeling quite hopel_ess_ about the whole situation. And most frustratingly, she felt _help_less. She couldn't help her Harry. And he _was_ hers, just as much as the children she birthed and raised. Harry was her child. And clearly she was not giving him what he needed, else none of this would have happened. _Well, that's quite enough of that_. Berating herself would do no good to help fix the situation, one jot. She vowed to do better by Harry in any and every way she could.

~o~

Snape and Harry approached the tree by the lake – the very tree under which Harry's father and his marauder cronies had tormented a younger Severus Snape. The irony that he was now here to help James Potter's son was not lost on Severus. But he was able to keep himself in check with practiced ease. Still, he was finding that this new role he was undertaking was no easier than his role as a Death Eater spy. He had to gain Potter's trust. No. _Harry's_ trust – he reminded himself. And he could ill afford to fail.

Yes, the end of the war had changed Severus. He now had purpose to his life outside of Potions – something he never thought would happen. To create a Potion that would revolutionize the wizarding world had been a long abandoned dream of Severus'. Working for the Dark Lord had quelled any such ambitions. But now, working with these displaced and often maligned children – known only as the "Slytherin orphans" – he _was_ a revolutionary. When no one else would (or even could had they bothered to try) help these survivors of war shed their parents' illicit legacies, it was Severus who understood exactly what they needed and how to guide his former students back into life. In a way, his current work was very like Potion making. Adding a word here, an idea there. Trying to find just the right balance of 'ingredients' to guide his Slytherins out from the mire of their families' ill-fated loyalty to a madman.

Snape's musings came to an end when he heard a small gasp from Harry. They had been sitting quietly under the tree, observing the lake for signs of life, when the squid raised a few of its enormous tentacles out of the water as a bird flew was a reader of people, and he was puzzled by what he saw pass across Harry's face. Excitement, worry – when he realized he had been heard – and then an attempt at a neutral expression.

"Have you seen the giant squid before?" Snape asked. It felt so foreign to be there, casually chatting with Harry Potter, and he was glad to have the persona of Vanes as his shield.

Harry nodded in response.

And that was the extent of Harry's communication (such as it was) throughout the whole of their time together. Snape asked questions and Harry nodded or occasionally shook his head in answer.

"It's quite an amazing creature, isn't it, Harry?"

Harry flicked his eyes to the Healer and back to the few residual ripples on the lake, nodding.

"I have an acquaintance who is equally fascinated by cephalopods."

At Harry's quizzical look, Severus amended, "I have a friend who, like you, enjoys watching the giant squid."

Understanding dawned on Harry's face and, unsurprisingly, he nodded in acknowledgement.

"In fact, I believe you know him. Mr Malfoy?"

Harry merely shrugged and shook his head.

"_Draco_ Malfoy?"

At this, Harry's face lit up and he smiled his first genuine smile since they had embarked on this excursion. "You know my fend, Dayco?"

"I do. I see him quite often at St. Mungos."

"Hims at Mungos?"

"He is. Perhaps you would like to go with me sometime to visit him. We could have tea."

"Yes, pease, sir. Dat be so nice. My visit Dayco a'day?"

"A day? Er, yes. Though I'm not sure which one," said the Healer, misunderstanding Harry's meaning. "We shall have to consult Madam Pomfrey to arrange it."

"Otay!" Harry said, getting up from the grass in a rush. "Yet's go back." Harry was so impatient to get back to the castle so they could ask his guardian that he paid little mind to the path and kept stumbling in his haste. This Healer was much nicer than Harry had thought him to be, and Harry could hardly believe he was finally going to see his friend, 'Pretty Boy', today!

----------------

Thoughts? Comments?

10


	20. Things Get Complicated

9

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton (aka: tsuj)**

**Disclaimer**: Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary**: Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old. Ever so slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**A/N: **Now available in 'beta-free'. Sorry folks…

**Chapter 20: Things Get Complicated**

Poppy was about halfway through taking inventory of her stores. This was something she traditionally did at the start of the summer hols. She liked things orderly and was never able to relax and enjoy her holidays when she knew there was yet work to be done in the hospital wing. Of course, this year, her routine had been disrupted by Harry's arrival and subsequent needs. But the new term was fast approaching. In a few weeks, the halls of Hogwarts would be filled with new and returning students, which meant that her hospital wing would be receiving a steady stream of young visitors with everything from broken limbs to wand-backfiring injuries. Poppy knew she would not be able to fulfill her role as Head Nurse in the coming term. In fact, she wondered if she would ever again be able to do so. Now her first priority was to tend to Harry and ensure his continued welfare and improvement. And it would be so for as long as he needed her.

Though neither of them had spoken of it, it was understood between Poppy and Minerva that things would need to change. But if Poppy was no longer the school's Nurse, where should she and Harry live? Was Hogwarts even the best place for Harry? She had no doubt that, if it was determined to be the case, Minerva would find them suitable living quarters. But might an entirely different environment be more appropriate? How would Harry's former classmates react to his condition? How would he feel about being so different from all the other children? The small flat she sometimes sublet for the hols was completely unsuitable for Harry.

It was thoughts like these that sent Poppy to the cupboard for an extra-strength headache potion. And, as insufferable as Professor Snape had been, she had to admit he was _the_ best Potions Master she had ever encountered; the potion took effect at once. She did not like the thought of her students making do with sub par potions, and would miss the man at least on that account.

As she was returning the bottle to the cupboard, she heard Harry's excited voice calling for her as he came rushing into the room. And to her amazement, he looked happy. It had seemed ages since she'd seen him so animated. But in the next instant her anger flashed as she realized Harry had entered the wing _alone_. Where in Merlin's name was the so-called 'reputable' Healer who was supposed to be watching Harry?

She didn't get the chance to ask Harry, for Vanes strode through the doorway in the next instant. For some reason, though, Poppy found it difficult to tamp down her rage at the thought of Harry being left unattended – even though it was clearly misplaced.

Oh. Yes. Clearly misplaced indeed. Harry was happy alright. Happy after spending just a short time with Vanes. How had the Healer been able to make Harry smile, where she – who knew him best – had failed? Recognizing her own jealousy did little to cause her feelings to abate.

"Pomfee!" cried Harry breathlessly, "DaHealersaymyseemyfendDayco –_a'day_!" He was positively beaming. "Hims at Mungo's, Pomfee. We go dere now Pomfee? Pease, pease?" Harry's chest was heaving from his sprint to the castle.

"Calm down, Harry. And take some slow breaths. My stars, what did you do, run here all the way from the lake?" Poppy had been making a jest, but Harry gave an enthusiastic nod as he gulped in air. The Healer arched an eyebrow in confirmation.

"_What_ has got you so excited, Harry? And slow down this time, so I can understand what you're saying."

Harry took a few more gulps of air before speaking. "Da Healer say I go visit Dayco a'day at Mungo's. We c'go _now_! Pease say 'yes', Pomfee. _Pease_."

Poppy raised her own eyebrows at this. She didn't appreciate Vanes making arrangements for Harry without speaking to her first. Oh, but he _had_, hadn't he? '_As I see fit, with no interference_'. Well, still, the least he could have done was show her the courtesy of informing her first before making such appointments for Harry. She composed herself before speaking as calmly as she could manage.

"Today? Well. That's awfully sudden. But –"

"Excuse me, Madam Pomfrey," the Healer clarified. "In fact, tomorrow would be best."

"Bu-but, but you said 'a'_day_'… s-sir." Harry's entire bearing changed. It was as though he had sunk several inches into the floor. His shoulders drooped, his mouth dropped open in disbelief, and he averted his tear-filled eyes and took deep breaths again. Only this time, it appeared it was to stop from crying.

At this, the Healer looked somewhat put out. It was a look that seemed out of place on him. But before he spoke, Poppy explained what she presumed the miscommunication to be. "Healer Vanes, Perhaps you are unaware that when Harry says 'a'day', what he means id '_to_-day'." She felt slightly better at this reminder that she did, in fact, know Harry best, and Poppy felt a little guilty that she relished enlightening the man. But she did.

"I see, "said the man, in a tone suggesting his displeasure that he hadn't 'seen' before. He turned to Harry. "Harry, tomorrow would be a good day to visit Mr Malfoy – Draco, that is," he amended. "Draco will not be expecting visitors today. I'm certain you would not wish to see your friend before he was ready to take company. And… I give you my apologies for misleading you – unintentionally." He looked up at Pomfrey at those words. "As I said, tomorrow will be best. Harry, Madam Pomfrey. I shall take my leave. We shall meet in my office at ten tomorrow," and with that he left.

Poppy watched the man go with a bit of shock. _'My apologies' indeed! And not even bothering to ask if ten was a convenient time for her and Harry. How rude that man was!_ She turned to see Harry staring at the empty doorway the Healer had exited. His lips were pressed tightly together and he was blinking back tears.

"Harry," Poppy crouched down by Harry and put her arm around him in comfort. "There, now, Harry," she gave his arm a reassuring squeeze and Harry stiffened slightly at this. _Oh, my poor Harry_, worried Poppy. "Tomorrow is not so far off. One day is not so very long a time to wait. And don't forget, Ginny is coming to see you later. Won't that be nice?"

When Harry merely nodded once at this, Poppy knew her words were empty to him. For a little boy, tomorrow was an eternity away. She was furious at the Healer for getting Harry's hopes up and dashing them so insensitively.

The project of finishing her inventory forgotten, Poppy stood and held out a hand to Harry. "Come on, Harry. You can choose what kind of bickies we'll serve to Ginny."

Harry swallowed. "No fank you," he whispered. "My go a'my nurs'ry now, Pomfee? My jus'… tired."

"Very well." Poppy tried to suppress a sigh. "Maybe an early nap is in order; you don't want to be too tired when Ginny arrives. Let's get you settled." Sensing he did not want to hold her hand, Poppy gestured for him to precede her out the door and they walked in silence back to their apartments.

~o~

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose in consternation. He didn't like being wrong, and he liked being _seen_ to be wrong even less so. Though he believed that he was misunderstanding Harry, he had _not _been expecting that. He had no intention of springing an early visit on Draco. He felt the boy needed a bit more preparation and instruction as to how to behave around Potter. He had made an unaffected exit, disallowing himself the haste he desired. He did not want to be witness to the inevitable fallout from his pronouncement – both from the Hogwarts nurse _and_ her charge. Too he did not like the melancholy that threatened to overtake him whenever he visited Hogwarts. What passed was past. That life was over for him and well he knew it. Severus likedthe work he was doing. Actually_ liked it. _And he was respected and admired at St. Mungo's, not for spying, double-crossing or creating the vilest of potions to do the Dark Lord's work. He was a Healer. But when he was in this castle, he found it difficult to hold on to that knowledge. How he had changed. Even Albus wouldn't have believed it, he mused, as he made his way back to his office.

~o~

Severus…? It was nigh impossible for Draco to believe his godfather was alive. So much so, in fact, that upon waking in Healer Vanes' office, he was convinced that it had all been a dream he'd had during his last 'fade out'. But there was Vanes, sitting at his desk, quill in hand, regarding Draco. The expression on his face had been too familiar – despite the man's altered appearance. This was most definitely Severus Snape.

And then his godfather had proceeded to explain – as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened and they were simply continuing a previous conversation – that Draco was to pull himself together and act like a Slytherin. _And_, that Severus was calling in Draco's life debt to him.

And how, exactly, was Severus proposing Draco pay that back? By assisting 'Perseus Vanes' in healing The Boy Who Lived, in whatever way Severus ordered him to, "Without question or hesitation." And Draco found this gruff manner comforting in a way that the man's previous gentleness was not. It was… familiar.

Severus had informed Draco that the wards to Harry's room had been spelled to allow Draco entrance and that sessions with Harry would begin three days hence. Draco hadn't a clue as to what "sessions" entailed, but again, he wouldn't dare ask. It had been strange to hear his godfather talking of actually _helping_ Harry Potter. Stranger still, that he was evenhere, at St. Mungos'. As a _Healer_, no less! Draco didn't expect proper bedside manners to be in his godfather's repertoire, or that the man would have any amount of patience with the infirm. But Draco was learning that there was a great deal he didn't know about Severus Snape – and he chastised himself for not expecting just that. And now it _was_ time to start thinking like a Slytherin. Maybe, maybe if they _could_ fix whatever was wrong with Harry, they could earn a place of respect in the Wizarding World and Severus could come out of hiding and stop taking polyjuice potion – or whatever it was he was doing to maintain his disguise. Draco had wisely resisted the urge to ask.

~o~

Harry couldn't sleep. He knew the real reason the Healer had changed his mind. He must have been able to tell how bad Harry was becoming: Running and shouting at his caretaker; asking for things when he shouldn't. The Healer could probably see that Harry didn't deserve to see his friend, because he _had_ turned bad. But how could he fix that, when they wouldn't let him near his scab to get the bad blood out? Whenever his bandage was changed, Harry had to sit on Hagrid's lap, and Hagrid always held Harry's hands. And try as he might, when Harry was alone in his bed, he could not remove his bandage or budge it one bit. It was as if something slippery was on it and Harry's fingers and nails could find no purchase.

His mind continued to race with these thoughts, and when he couldn't bear it another minute, he got out of bed and went to the door. He could hear low voices talking from the parlour. He stopped to listen. Ginny was there with Madam Pomfrey.

"…do whatever you can."

"I don't know how much I can help him, Madam Pomfrey, but I'll try. Shall I go wake him now?"

At that, Harry panicked. It wasn't nice to listen to other people's conversations. He _knew_ it wasn't nice, yet he had done it anyways. He quickly turned and rushed towards the bed, only to stumble over his pile of wooden dragons. He fell headfirst onto the footboard of his bead and saw stars. A moment later, the nursery door was flung open and he heard the two witches call his name as he started to push himself up on all fours.

"Slow down, Harry," said Madam Pomfrey. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Unh uh," he said as he turned over to sit with his back against the footboard of his bed. That's when he saw he'd broken the wings off his Hungarian horntail that Hagrid had carved for him.

Ginny saw it too. She took out her wand and cast a quick "_Reparo_."

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips at that. After examining Harry for injuries and finding none, she said, "It was very kind of you to fix Harry's dragon, Ginevra." Then she turned to Harry, saying gently, "But Harry, if you had put your toys away as I had asked you, you wouldn't have tripped and broken it in the first place."

Harry looked crestfallen. "Yes Pomfee," he whispered solemnly.

"Well, as you're not hurt there's no great harm done. But the next time you use your dragons Harry, I expect you to put them back in your toy box when you're done." She spoke in calming tones, adding, "You and Ginny can spend some time together now and then we'll have a nice tea.

"Why don't we play chase with your dragons, Harry?" offered Ginny. "I'll help you clean them up after."

"Fank you, Nee Nee."

The dragon chase game didn't get very far because Harry's heart just wasn't in it. So Ginny animated two of the dragons and she and Harry watched _them_ play chase. By the end of it, Harry was even smiling at the little toys' aeronautic antics. After that, Ginny read Harry a few of his favorite books and then Madam Pomfrey was calling them out to tea.

~o~

**A/N: feedback appreciated**


	21. Dreams May Come

6

**Regarding Harry**

**by Tsujton (aka: tsuj)**

**Disclaimer**: Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).

**Summary**: Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old. Ever so slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**A/N: **Now available in 'beta-free'. Sorry for the brevity of this chapter folks…

**Chapter 21: Dreams May Come**

They sat, the four of them, Poppy, Harry, Draco and the Healer, in Vanes' office at a small table he had conjured for their tea. There was pumpkin juice and cookies for Harry, and Poppy was loath to admit how thoughtful that was of Vanes. She consoled herself slightly with the thought that it was probably the house-elves who were responsible for the tea setting.

From the moment they entered the Healer's office, Harry hadn't said a word and he barely looked up to nod or shake his head when spoken to. Surely this was not the same boy who, earlier that very morning, had been jabbering nonstop about going to visit his 'fend Dayco'? Then, Harry had practically shaken with excitement and anticipation, but now he was subdued and shy, avoiding eye contact. Poppy noticed his face was flushed; perhaps he did not feel well?

The Malfoy boy's demeanor was only slightly better than Harry's. Despite impeccable Pureblood manners, which had no doubt been drilled into him from birth, he too could barely eke out his 'Please' and 'Thank you's. Thus, the conversation at tea, such as it was, well…wasn't. The two adults repeatedly attempted to engage the boys, but nothing seemed to bring them into anything resembling a conversation.

When Poppy announced that it was time to for them to leave, Harry gave a soft whinge of disappointment.

"But Pomfee, my not show Dayco my magical ceatures book," he whispered plaintively.

"Harry, Healer Vanes and Draco may have other plans they need to be getting on to. And besides, we'll be coming back tomorrow. I'm sure you can show him then." Poppy's words seemed to mollify Harry somewhat, but he was still reluctant to leave.

Gathering his courage, Harry looked up directly at the Healer. "Pease sir, my show Dayco my book bafore we goes? Pease?"

At this unexpected burst of language, Vanes looked nonplussed for a fleeting moment. The adults exchanged looks, silently agreeing to extend the visit to allow the sharing of the book. Then the Healer said to Harry, "Very well, you may stay a few more minutes."

It was as though that announcement had triggered Harry's ability to converse and he began in earnest telling Draco about his favorite animals from the book. He spoke quickly, barely stopping for breath.

"Dis am a moke. Dey gets big, fast! An' dis a hippagiff. Ahgi haves some in da forest an' Wiverwings yike me a yot! Dis a darvey, I gots a fend, Darvey, but she on hol-day ." Harry checked to see if Madam Pomfrey was listening. She was, and at his next words, she had to stifle a laugh.

"Ahgi says dey haves 'colourful langage dats not fit for po-yite comp-ny' an dat you should _never_ copy what dey say." He added in a whisper, "But my Darvey am _funny_! I show you when she come back."

For his part, Draco seemed to be making an effort to smile and nod in response to Harry's comments. And after about ten minutes, the Healer explained that he had other appointments and that it was time for Harry to go.

Harry accepted this pronouncement and became suddenly shy again. He mumbled a soft, "G'bye," to Draco and the Healer and with eyes once again downcast, followed Poppy out.

When the door closed behind the visitors, Draco let out a deep sigh and slumped onto the settee.

"I don't think this is working," he said, just as Snape said,

"This is working well. That was an adequate start."

The two Slytherins just looked at each other with veiled expressions for a moment. Again they spoke simultaneously.

"I'll just be going now," Draco mumbled.

"I shall see you tomorrow," said Snape, a near smile twitching at his lips.

~o~

The charm to alert Poppy if Harry was in distress went off, waking her immediately. She rushed to the nursery, and opened the door too see books and toys and clothes flying in a maelstrom around Harry's bed. With out thinking, she rushed forwards, buffeted by wind, and was struck in the temple by something hard. She could feel a telltale trickle of blood and held her arms up protectively until she reached the bed and was able to duck below the violently whirling debris.

"Harry! Harry, wake up, you're having a bad dream." She patted his cheek as she called to him, patting harder when the gentle taps had no effect.

Harry woke with a start, looking around wildly and reaching for his neck. When his eyes fell on Madam Pomfrey, Harry burst into tears, and the flying items fell to the floor with a startling crash.

"Da bad man," he gasped, "Hims have arms yike da giant sqid!" He could barely speak through his sobs, "… grabbin' me-ee-ee, – an' grabbin' Dayco an' – pease, Pomfee – don't yet him get us!"

"Hushhhh now, Harry. Calm down. Nobody's going to 'get you'," soothed Poppy. But her words had no effect; Harry kept shaking his head and sobbing.

"Don't get us – don't!"

"Shhhh, Harry. You were having a bad dream." She pulled Harry to her and held him close, patting his back gently and making more shushing sounds of reassurance. "You're safe at home, Harry. You're safe."

Harry took deep wavering breaths and pressed his head into Poppy's shoulder. "Him's gonna put bad bud in – in da piddy boy's head. An' – make him – b-be a bad boy, too," he cried piteously, now burying his head in her lap and gripping her nightdress.

"_Lumos_," Poppy incanted, and the torchiers on the walls lit up brightly. She took a deep breath and held Harry firmly by the shoulders. "Look at me Harry," she spoke with authority, and the change in her tone caught his attention. He stilled and slowly raised his tear-streaked face to meet her gaze. But whatever she was going to say next was lost, as Harry broke into hysterics once again.

"Oh, no, nooo! Da bad mans hurted you, too?"

Poppy had forgotten about her head wound. Though it was inconsequential, she knew the nature of head wounds was such that they could appear much worse than they were.

"I must look a fright, Harry, but _really_, I am _fine_." She gave a reassuring smile, pointed her wand to her temple and said, "_Episkey_," which she followed with a cleaning charm. "You see? All better. Now tell me about your dream."

"My …'deam'? What dat?" He had calmed down at the sight of her scar-free temple and now looked perplexed.

"You were having a bad dream, Harry. About a bad man? Dreams are stories we see when we sleep, but Harry, I promise you, they are not real."

"No, Pomfee. Him's real." Harry raised a hand to his bandaged head.

"Were you dreaming about Lucius Malfoy? The man who hurt you in the forest?"

Harry nodded. "Hims put da bad bu-" Harry stopped speaking, a look of horror on his face. "My not say it! My not!" He shook his head vigorously. "Pomfee – don't yeave me. Don't go 'way!' He grabbed her nightdress once more, his knuckles white.

"Harry, I'm not going to leave you. I'm not going anywhere; I'm staying right here." She drew him to her again and patted his back gently. "The 'bad man' you dreamt of, Harry? You don't have to worry about him anymore. He is dead. He can never hurt you or anyone ever again."

Harry was quiet for a time. Then he whispered, "Dead…? Wif… Muma, Da-ee?" Fresh tears leaked from his reddened eyes.

Poppy was at a loss for words; she hadn't meant to make Harry more distraught, thinking of his parents. She forced herself to swallow past the lump in her throat and said with conviction, "No, Harry. He is _not_ with them."

Poppy wasn't certain how best to explain, for Harry's understanding of death was only that of a three or four-year old. "Harry, I don't believe that Lucius Malfoy could _ever_ be with your Mummy and Daddy. He did terrible, bad things. And your parents were kind, wonderful people. They are in very different… 'dead' places."

If Harry seemed satisfied with that answer, Madam Pomfrey couldn't tell. But, at least, he didn't ask about it further, and she felt his body start to relax and his breathing slow as he drifted back to sleep. As she promised, she stayed with him the rest of the night. She conjured some extra pillows to lean on, and summoned some Pepperup Potion to keep her alert in case Harry had another nightmare.

A/N: feedback appreciated


	22. How To Succeed In Potty Training Without

**Regarding Harry**

**By Tsujton**

**Disclaimer**: Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit from this story.

**Summary**: Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old. Ever so slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**A/N:** So it's been a while. I was disheartened by the lack of reviews, and had a hard time getting back to writing. I would like to profusely thank the few people who took the time to comment. This chapter is for you. It really helps to know that you are out there.

As to the title of this chapter, guess who saw Mr Radcliff on Broadway last week? \o/

**Chapter 22: How To Succeed In Potty Training Without Really Trying**

In the morning, Madam Pomfrey left Harry to have a quiet breakfast with Dobby so she could go to her office and floo-call Healer Vanes.

"To what do I owe this… interruption?" was the Healer's terse greeting.

It was fine with Poppy if Perseus Vanes wanted to skip pleasantries. She was perfectly happy to get right to the point. "Harry had night terrors last night – with an extremely violent outburst of accidental magic!" That got the Healer's attention, and Poppy felt a small amount of satisfaction. (She did not expect the feeling to last.)

"Was he hurt?" Vanes set his quill down, eyes narrowed.

"Thankfully, no." Poppy was momentarily taken aback by the man's sudden concern. "But he might have been!" She purposefully did not mention her own injury, certain that Vanes would somehow use it against her.

"Indeed," the Healer returned to a tone of disinterest and again took up his quill. "If that is all…?"

"Ind-? _Yes_, indeed! And, _no_, that is _not_ all! This all happened because Harry saw the Malfoy boy yesterday," she accused. "Last night Harry dreamt that Lucius Malfoy was viciously attacking him and Draco. Healer Vanes, I knew it was a mistake to let him see the younger Malfoy, and I do _not_ want Harry to have any further contact with him!" She knew she sounded slightly unbalanced, yet she couldn't seem to stop the words from rising in pitch as they tumbled out.

Vanes stood up and walked around his desk to stand in front of the grate. He waited there a full minute before replying evenly, "Ah. Madam Pomfrey, may I remind you that you agreed not to interfere with my methods? In fact, Madam, I believe it would be most beneficial for Harry to see Draco as soon as possible, to reassure him that his dream was false. We shall expect you at half nine."

With that, The Healer stepped away from the grate and turned his back on Poppy. The Hogwarts Nurse was stunned speechless by the Healer's abruptness. She withdrew from her own grate and slumped back against the fireplace. At last, she rose to her feet and slowly made her way back to her chambers to ready Harry for the visit. By the time she got there, Harry had finished eating. The boy looked so despondent as he and Dobby sat side by side, a large _Magical Creatures_ book open on their laps. If she didn't know better, Poppy would have thought that Dobby had accidentally used glumbumble in Harry's porridge. _If only it were that simple_. She longed for simplicity – in anything! But Dobby was nothing if not doting and devoted to Harry, and would never make such a mistake. The little elf turned a page slowly, watching Harry's face all the while. But Harry appeared not to even notice the change in the pictures before him.

"I just spoke to Healer Vanes," began Poppy as she stepped into the room. She took a fortifying breath before continuing with an attempt at a smile plastered on her face. "He has invited us to come and see him – and Draco – this morning."

Dobby scowled at the mention of his former master's heir, but upon seeing Harry's expression, he held his tongue.

Harry's eyes widened and he looked simultaneously hopeful and afraid. "A'day, Pomfee?"

"Um hmm," was all she could reply. "Why don't you and Dobby finish up that book, and then we shall get ready to go."

"Oh, Mr Harry Potter is almost knowing this whole book by heart! Harry Potter is being a very clever wizard," gushed the elf.

Harry ducked his head and blushed at the praise. "My _am_ done wif da book, Pomfee. My gets ready a'see Dayco now?"

It galled Poppy to admit to herself that Vanes was likely right about Harry needing to see the Malfoy boy again. She had further evidence of this when, upon answering Harry with a, "Very well," the boy leapt up and ran into the nursery, returning in short order with his traveling robe in one hand and the wooden Hungarian horntail which Hagrid had carved for him in the other.

"My pease show Dayco dis?" he asked, holding up the dragon.

"Of course, Harry. I'll go fetch my robe and we can go." As she donned her own traveling robe, and helped Harry with the clasp on his, Poppy steeled herself for what she was sure would be an unparalleled attitude of pomposity from Perseus Vanes. Knowing she might just deserve an, 'I told you so', from the man did nothing to assuage her dread.

~o~

"My apologies, Madam Pomfrey, Harry. It is not like Draco to be late." Severus was inwardly furious that his godson had chosen _this_ of all moments to break form. As Harry let out yet another apprehensive sigh, Severus could feel the 'I told you so' emanating from the Hogwarts Nurse.

A tentative knocking on the door put a welcome end to the building tension.

"Enter, Draco." The Healer's tone was mordant, and though Harry had looked up at the quiet knock, as soon as the Healer spoke, he ducked his head back down and began to rock back and forth nervously.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Sir. Nurse Harco-" The glare from his godfather stopped Draco mid sentence. Severus shifted his eyes, directing Draco to observe Harry rocking on the settee. Madam Pomfrey was gently patting his back giving Draco a glare that rivaled his godfather's.

"As I mentioned earlier, Draco, Harry had a disturbing nightmare about _you_, and he has been keen to ensure that you are unharmed."

"Oh," was all Draco could manage. Severus leveled Draco with another pointed look and again inclined his head towards the settee. "Erm, hullo, Harry. I'm, uh, not hurt at all." This was patently untrue, as he had just escaped from a rather vicious arm twist at the hands of Nurse Harcourt. The burly Nurse had taken it upon himself to eject Draco from the tearoom for "unapproved loitering" of all things. Despite knowing it would not be well received, Draco couldn't stop himself from making a smart retort. This was met with an additional shove against the corridor wall. He rubbed his arm unconsciously at the memory, and when Severus placed the visitor's chair next to the settee, and gestured for Draco to sit, he did so.

Against her own desires, Poppy prompted her charge to greet the new arrival with a hushed, "Manners, please, Harry."

"'Lo," murmured Harry in minimal greeting. Then he slowly looked up at Draco's forehead and tentatively reached a hand towards the other boy's fringe, brushing it shakily to the side. There was nothing there! The air rushed out of his lungs as his shoulders sagged in relief.

"Well then," the Healer clapped his hands together, efficiently startling all present. "Time for tea." With a casual flick of his wand, Severus made the round table appear. It was set with service for four with a very simple tea and ginger biscuits. "Sit down, gentlemen, and do begin. Madam Pomfrey and I have a brief matter to attend to, and shall return shortly."

This pronouncement had a startling effect almost equal to the handclap of a moment before. Draco paled in panic, and Madam Pomfrey's lips pressed together tightly, her disapproval evident. However, she followed the Healer out with quick pat to Harry's arm, and a gentle push towards the table.

"Go ahead, dear. We'll be right back."

Before the door had even clicked shut, Draco had mastered himself and took on the role of host. "Please, sit down, won't you, Harry? Uh, no pumpkin juice today, I'm afraid." _What the hell was Severus thinking?_ "Would you like some tea?" _Because four-year-olds just_ love_ tea._

Harry nodded mutely and he took the proffered seat as Draco poured out some tea for each of them.

"Sugar?" Harry's nod brought a smile to Draco's lips as he remembered his and Harry's encounter with sugar in Hagrid's hut. He put three lumps in Harry's and one in his own cup. Offers of cream and biscuits were similarly met with silent nods.

Draco struggled to think of what to say to get Harry to speak with him. Severus' instructions had been most clear: he wanted Harry to feel "completely at ease" on his visits. He had been significantly less clear on just how Draco was to achieve that goal. 'Speak simply and kindly to him. Cajole him as any good Slytherin would a four-year-old in his care,' his godfather had said. Draco had responded at the time that a truly 'good' Slytherin wouldn't find himself in the position of needing to care for a four-year-old in the first place (a comment that was not well received, as he recalled).

"So, uh, Harry. I see you've brought something different today."

A nod.

_Well, I can see this is going to go about as well as expected_, Draco groused silently. "May I see it?"

Another nod. Then Harry went to retrieve his toy from the settee. He held the dragon up for Draco to see.

"Is that a hippogriff?" Draco thought to ask.

"No," Harry sounded surprised. "You not know 'bout dagons?"

"Uh, not really. Perhaps you could tell me about them?" He gestured for Harry to join him at the table. When Harry hesitated, Draco urged, "I really want to learn about them, Harry. Come sit," he patted the seat of the chair beside him. "You can bring your dragon."

Harry chewed on his lower lip and whispered, "Pomfee say, 'No toys at da table.' Dat's mannerses."

"Of course. Erm, you have excellent manners. We can finish our tea after." Draco joined Harry and made a show of looking at the wooden toy from all angles. "It looks rather scary. You must be very brave."

Harry studied the dragon anew and absently began petting it. "It not a real dagon. It just a 'tend one."

"Oh, erm. Of course," Draco was at a loss at how to proceed. Thankfully, Harry continued talking.

"Deams is just a'tend, too. Dey happens when you go a'seep. My not be bave about dem." He frowned at this. "But Pomfee say dey not real." He looked up again and brushed Draco's fringe aside. "Dey not. You gots no bad bud?" He touched his own bandaged forehead.

"Bad… you mean a scab like yours? No, I don't have one. I _am_ fine, Harry. Really." Draco asked, "What exactly _is_ 'bad bud'?" He really needed lessons on how to speak 'four-year-old'.

"Dagons beave fire," Harry said, acting as though Draco had not spoken. "Dey can fly like birds an' deir babies come fum eggs like birds. But birds not beave fire." He put the toy back down on the settee and returned to the tea table. He dipped a biscuit into his teacup and set it down on the saucer untouched. "Dat good, you gots no owies. My no like bad deams."

Draco rejoined Harry at the table and an uncomfortable silence ensued – from Harry, because he was lost in thought, and from Draco, because he was without a clue as to how to proceed. When the office door opened and Madam Pomfrey preceded the Healer into the room, it was Draco's turn to let out a sigh of relief.

"I trust you gentlemen are enjoying your tea?" Severus' expression let Draco know what he thought of his entirely too audible sigh.

"Actually, Sir, Harry was teaching me a bit about dragons. Why, we almost forgot about your tea." His voice was a tad derisive. It wasn't _his_ fault that he didn't know how to draw Harry out. And having an unappealing spread for tea certainly wasn't helping matters any.

"I see. Perhaps Harry can continue that when he returns. I'm sure Harry has more dragon lore to share with you, Draco. So, Harry, can we expect you to return to us tomorrow?"

Harry looked up hopefully at his caregiver. "We come back a'morrow?"

"I'm sure that will be fine, Harry. You used to come to St. Mungo's everyday when you were learning to walk, remember?"

Harry nodded in reply.

"Excellent," interrupted the Healer. "I don't see why you shouldn't return to that practice. I'm sure Draco, would appreciate more visits from you."

At a nudge from Severus, Draco chimed in, "Yes! That would be great, Harry. You could show me more of your books and toys."

At this pronouncement, Harry suddenly stood up, knocking his chair back in his haste, and threw his arms around a stunned Draco. "My do dat, Piddy Boy! My gots a book about dagons an' I can bing it a'morrow!"

Draco awkwardly patted Harry on the back. "Y-yeah. Great," he said, voice cracking.

"Time to go now, Harry. Hagrid will be waiting for us." At Poppy's words, Harry released Draco, gathered up his dragon and waved goodbye.

Once their guests had departed, Draco downed the rest of his tea and poured a cup for Severus before refilling his own. "The tea was a big hit," he said sarcastically.

"That was rather the point."

"Excuse me?"

"Knowing Harry's predilection for sweets, I did not want him distracted from speaking with you."

"Speaking of 'speaking with me', Severus, a little more direction would be appreciated." Draco stirred his tea angrily. "Why would _I_ know anything about four-year-olds?"

"You did very well indeed, Dragon. It would seem you know more than you realize. Remember, it is important for Harry to feel comfortable here. I want him to be able to be alone with you, so that I may monitor his …more unguarded behaviour, and alone with me, so that I may delve deeper into-"

…Severus was talking to him, Draco realized with a start. He looked up guiltily at his godfather. But instead of his 'fade out' being met with the anger he was expecting, Severus' next words were spoken gently.

"Draco, you _will_ improve. It takes time and you must keep trying. I realize it is difficult to believe, but there _will_ come a time when you will be able to leave St. Mungo's and live your life.

~o~

The rest of the week seemed to drag by for Poppy, who escorted Harry to St. Mungo's for the next four days. Harry looked forward to each visit with eager anticipation. His enthusiasm for something – anything – was a welcome change, but spending time in the presence of Healer Vanes was quite a chore to be borne. At breakfast, Harry told Poppy what he was planning to bring to show Draco, and at lunch she listened while he gave a full recounting of the visit to Dobby.

Saturday came as a relief to Poppy (and to Dobby, who was having a time of it, trying to show interest and encouragement around anything Malfoy.) But it was short lived, due to an owl arriving at breakfast, asking her to meet with Vanes the next morning. The missive had her fuming, not so much due to its content – which was surprisingly cordial – but because of its unfortunate timing. Just when she was getting ready to unwind and enjoy a weekend at home with Harry! Why couldn't the Healer have asked her in person on Friday, rather than interrupting her Saturday like this. Was the man purposefully trying to get her goat? She had half a mind to sic one of Aberforth's hoofed friends on the man. _He could use a good head butt to the rump!_

Her logical mind knew, of course, that this was not an appropriate response and that she was likely overreacting. Perhaps something had come up since their visit the day before? This man, as maddening as he was, _was_ trying to help her Harry. Still, she had been so relishing the thought of a break from dealing with Vanes, and she wanted to tell her logical mind to go stuff a bludger.

Poppy greeted next morning's sunrise with a huff of resentment. Ron arrived late to watch Harry – for which he received a frightful glare that promised Madam Pomfrey would be having words with him later. Subsequently, Poppy herself was late arriving at Vanes' office. At her prim rap on the door, it opened. Vanes, she saw, was as he appeared before all her previous meetings with him: busy. Poppy cleared her throat and took a step forward, waiting in the doorway to be formally invited in.

The Healer finished scratching out the line he was writing and set his quill in its holder. "Ah, Madam Pomfrey, you are here," he stated unnecessarily, and gestured for her to take a seat.

"My apologies, Healer Vanes. I value punctuality; my delay was, however unavoidable."

"No matter. I shall get straight to the point."

This did not surprise Poppy in the least. She nodded for him to proceed, as she wished to have this meeting over with as quickly as possible.

"Harry's visits have been going quite well. I had correctly anticipated that having Draco present would hasten Harry's comfort level more rapidly than even I had imagined.

"I imagine you both must be rather well versed in dragon lore, then," quipped Poppy.

"Indeed. My plan is that after another week of these visits, Harry will be accepting enough for me to begin using Legilimency."

Despite her having agreed to this course of action, despite her agreeing not to interfere, and especially despite her infernal logical mind telling her she was courting some dangerous denial, Poppy said, "I don't know that that will be necessary after all, Healer Vanes. Harry has shown no signs of self injurious behaviour –"

"Madam Pomfrey," Vanes cut in sharply, "do you imagine that the reasons behind Harry's past self-injurious behaviours have simply vanished?"

It was not said as a question, though, and Poppy had had no argument for the man. Upon further reflection, as she was riding the lift back down to the lobby, she was somewhat mortified to have revealed a rather unprofessional side of herself to a colleague. Even if it was to a colleague whom she detested beyond measure.

~o~

Harry was wriggling from side to side, sitting on the wall at the edge of the bailey. He and Ron had been tossing biscuit crumbs out to a jobberknoll, who refused to eat them (even when Ron charmed them to look like flies), and a chubby squirrel, who ate them whatever shape they were.

Reluctantly, Ron asked, "Erm, Harry, you don't need to use the loo, do you?"

Harry, not wanting to stop feeding the creatures, replied with a noncommittal sort of sound before returning to crumbling biscuits.

Harry was still in nappies, but Madam Pomfrey had left a scroll of instructions for Ron reminding him to try to get Harry to use the loo. To Run's utter horror, the Nurse had written that it would be "particularly helpful" for Ron to take him, as he was "equipped to demonstrate the proper method for –" he was barely able to bring himself to read the rest of the missive. It wasn't often that Ron thought this, but just then, he wished he were a Slytherin, so he could pretend he didn't notice Harry's obvious need.

"Come on, mate," he said, jumping down from the wall. He reached a hand up to help Harry, saying, "After the loo, we can go to the kitchens and get a treat from Dobby. I'll even let you tickle the pear." As Ron had suspected that did the trick, though part of Ron _really_ wished it hadn't. He was not looking forward to giving Harry this particular lesson.

As they approached the corridor with the toilets near the great hall, Harry veered left towards the girls' bathroom.

"No, Harry. That's for girls. C'mon. We go in here."

"But 'Moine taked me in _dat_ one." Harry pointed to the left. He was very nervous about bathrooms in general. He didn't like the flushing noise, he didn't like how the seat felt cold on his bottom when he sat down, and he definitely didn't like the idea of following Ron into an unfamiliar one.

Uncharacteristically, Ron held firm on this. "I am _not_ taking you to the girls'." He opened the door to the Boys' loo and sharply gestured for Harry to go in. Harry was so surprised by Ron's tone he obeyed without further argument. This, in turn, surprised Ron, who filed this amazing new strategy away for future use with Harry.

Harry stopped abruptly when he spied the row of urinals. "Why dey put dose funny baftubs on da wall, Non-Non?"

"Those aren't bathtubs, Harry. They're urinals. Erm, you know, that's were boys… go."

Harry clearly did not know, and his eyes boggled wide. He took a step back and bumped into Ron. "Uh, my no gots a go, Non-Non," he blurted.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron could see that the other boy was scared. "It's just a urinal. Nothing to be afraid of. Give it a try, go on," he encouraged.

But Harry just shook his head and whispered, "My n-not wanna sit down dere."

"You're not gonna… oh. Oh! No, Harry. You don't _sit_ in a urinal. You stand up." Ron couldn't believe what he was about to do, but clearly, Madam Pomfrey was right. Only another boy could show Harry what to do; he was surrounded by females most of the time. He, Hagrid and Dobby were the exceptions, as far as Ron new. He imagined that it would be too frightening (or, rather, intimidating) to have Hagrid show Harry what to do – and then instantly wished he _hadn't_ imagined that. And he definitely did _not_ want to think about house-elf anatomy.

_Here goes_, he marshaled himself. "Uh, you do it like this." Ron stepped in front of the closest urinal and undid his zip. "You, uh, aim it in there," he said, blushing beet red as he demonstrated.

Harry stared in fascination as the yellow stream hit the porcelain wall and slid down to the drain. "Oh," he said. And after a beat, asked hesitantly, "My try dat?"

"Yeah–" Ron started to say, when an enormous spray of water erupted from the next urinal over and a transparent girl in school robes and glasses flew up through the porcelain.

" – aaaaahg!" Ron finished and fell back on his arse with a splash. He scrambled to roll over with his back to the ghost, and landing his knees in the water, tucked himself away. "Bloody Myrtle! What th–" he was interrupted again, this time by Harry's shout.

"It da Peek-a-boo Girl, Non-Non! Huyo, Peek-a-boo Girl!"

"The 'peek-a-boo girl'? That's just creepy. Myrtle, what the bloody hell are you doing here? This is the _boys'_!"

"I'm dead, not stupid, Ronald Weasley! I just wanted to say hello to Harry." She smiled, moony-eyed at him as she said this.

"Huyo," said Harry. "You make a _big_ mess, Peek-a-boo Girl. Look at Non-Non's tousers."

"Oh, well, it's just a little water," she said dismissively. "It's good to see you again, Harry."

"When was the _last_ time you saw him – and _where_?" asked Ron suspiciously.

"On a'nover day! She peeked out my baf! Wader spashed _evywhere_, an' Pomfee was _real_ mad, too!"

The memory seemed an amusing one to Harry, rather than upsetting. It still creeped Ron out considerably.

"Yes, well, she forbade me to enter the bathrooms in her suite. I cried and cried, and I've been waiting for Harry to come use a school bathroom ever since."

"That's just… Never mind. Sod off, Myrtle. No girls allowed."

"Everybody is sooooo mean to me," cried the ghost.

"No cry, Peek-a-boo Girl. You can stay. Pease, Non-Non?"

"No. Way. Out, Myrtle, before I call Professor McGonagall on you."

"Hmph! Fine! I know when I'm not wanted," and with that, she dove back down the drain, splashing Ron yet again.

"I really don't think she does," muttered Ron, wiping ineffectually at his sopping trousers. "Come on, Harry. I'm rubbish at drying spells. Let's go up to Gryffindor Tower. I bet I can find something to wear in the lost and found."

Harry readily followed Ron out, glad that the other boy seemed to have forgotten all about wanting Harry to pee in the strange wall toilet. Besides, it was too late anyways.

Up in the Gryffindor common room, while Ron sifted through a trunk of left-behinds, Harry walked around exploring. There were large tapestries on the wall with pictures of unicorns and lions, armored knights and ladies in fancy dresses. There was a big board with tattered papers pinned to it, with grownup words, but also some with pictures – Harry recognized a page from the _Marvin the Muggle_ comics. The furniture was big and red and poufy, and the armchair Harry stopped in front of while he was looking at the board looked very inviting. Checking to see that Ron was still busy, Harry threw himself into the chair, which seemed to give him a little welcoming hug. Except then he felt something poking into his leg. A colourful little box was peeking out of the crevice between the seat cushion and the armrest.

Curious, Harry pulled it out and opened it up. Candy! The box was mostly filled with empty wrappers, but there were still a few pieces left of round, pastel coloured confections. Harry gingerly touched one with a finger. It was cold! It looked like a little ball of ice cream. With a surreptitious glance Ron's way, Harry lifted a pale orange sweet out of its paper and popped in his mouth. It didn't quite taste like ice cream, but it was sweet, and cold, and _delicious_. And as Harry ate another – this time he chose a pink one – he felt a strange sensation. It was as if the poufy chair was pushing him up and out of it. Only he wasn't falling on the rug. He was hovering just above his seat. He couldn't help but laugh in delight, as he ate the last chilly sweet.

Ron looked up and spied the bright box Harry held in his hand as he floated two feet or so above his chair. "Oh, no! Where did you get those?" He slapped a palm to his head. "Levitating sherbet balls. Of course. On _my_ watch," he grumbled softly. He almost added, 'What else could go wrong,' but thought better of tempting fate given his luck thus far. "How many did you have, Harry?"

"Uh, all of dems?" he answered meekly. And then he felt very, very bad. How could he be so selfish and not share the treats with his friend? And suddenly he remembered. He was bad. Turning more and more bad. And he hadn't done anything to try to stop it in a long time. Without thinking, he reached up to the plaster on his forehead and started scratching it and rapping on it with his knuckles. He knew he would never get the plaster off and tears started leaking down his cheeks.

"Stop, Harry, stop!" Ron ran to him frantically and reached up to hold his hands still. "It's okay. It's not that big of a deal. They'll wear off in a bit and you'll be back to normal in no time." His words did not seem to soothe Harry at all, and not for the first time that day, Ron thought, _Why, WHY didn't I ask Hermione to come?_

~o~

Harry had finally calmed down and was letting Ron read to him from _The Adventures of Wizard Glick_, when Madam Pomfrey returned. She was already angry with Ron for being late, and now he had to tell her about failed bathroom trips, levitating sherbet balls, and worst of all, that Harry had tried to hurt himself again.

When he had finished relating the events of the day, and when Madam Pomfrey had finished telling him exactly what she thought about his ability to care for Harry and keep him safe, Ron felt like an over-used bludger. Madam Pomfrey was so angry with him, he was afraid she wouldn't let him come back to see Harry ever again. He was completely miserable. Instead of flooing back to The Burrow, he went to Hogsmeade, and Apparated to Hermione's from there.

Hermione listened sympathetically to Ron, as he described what had happened, and she put her arm around his shoulder, giving him a squeeze. "Oh, Ron," she soothed, guiding him to sit down on the sofa. "She just needs some time. You know the second Harry asks to see you, Madam Pomfrey will acquiesce. What happened with you could have happened with _anybody_."

"It wouldn't have happened with you," Ron murmured.

"Well, no. I suppose not," conceded Hermione. "But I'm sure she will realize –"

"I don't think so, Hermione. You didn't see her. She was so furious with me. I've never seen her like that – she could've given Snape a run for his money."

"Ron, I'm sure you're exaggerating."

"I'm not! And you know what? She's right! I'm complete rubbish at taking care of Harry. He could've been really hurt. And there I was, not paying attention. Bloody stupid–"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley! You stop this at once!"

Ron shrank back. "Hermione, leave off! You sound just like Pomfrey."

"I'm just trying to help," she said, stung. "You are not a terrible person, Ron Weasley. Harry did _not_ get hurt. Yes, you made some mistakes –"

Ron sagged and put his head in his hands.

"Oh, Ron. It'll be okay, I'm sure she will see reason." Hermione put both her arms around him. "I'll talk to her in a few days, if you like."

Ron could only nod. He knew if he tried to speak now, he would loose his composure.

~o~

By Tuesday of the following week, Poppy was pleased to see Harry had shed most of his somber mood. She had enlisted Dobby's help in setting up a round the clock watch, to be sure Harry wasn't trying to hurt himself. Despite the fact that Dobby took the night shifts, Poppy was still exhausted. Sleep did not come easily to her; she was just too worried about Harry.

So when Hermione Granger arrived unexpectedly Tuesday evening, with an offer to watch Harry and put him to bed, Poppy accepted. She was glad of the chance to get away, knowing Harry was in good hands. Poppy gave Hermione a quick rundown on Harry's evening routine, and showed her were to find fresh nappies. She reminded Harry to use the loo before changing into his pyjamas, and a bit more sternly told him to be on his very best behaviour for Hermione. She had little doubt that the girl's visit and offer had, if not an ulterior motive, an additional one, having to do with one Ronald Weasley.

Perhaps, she mused as she walked across the bailey breathing in the sweet night air, she had been too harsh with the boy. The gibbous moon shed light on her path, as she made her way to the rose garden. One thing was for certain, if she ever _did_ let him watch Harry again, she was certain young Weasley wouldn't take his eyes off of his charge for a single second. That Granger girl truly was the cleverest witch in her year – or possibly any year, for that matter. Being alone, out under the moon and stars was just what Poppy needed to relieve some of her tension. As she sat on a stone bench and cast her gaze skyward, she thought she might give Weasley another chance after all. But not before she let him sweat for a bit. Then again, perhaps a word or two with Molly Weasley would do the trick, better than any waiting period Poppy could impose. Mrs Weasley's howlers were infamous, and Poppy could only imagine that facing the Weasley matriarch's wrath in person was a rather more unforgettable experience.

~o~

It was the end of Harry's second week of daily visits to St. Mungo's. As he and Madam Pomfrey approached the lift, they spied Draco Malfoy waiting for them.

"Hi Dayco! _My_ wearing big-boy-pants a'day!" Harry announced with a proud tilt of his chin. "Wan' see?" he asked eagerly, and reached to push his trousers down.

At this, Draco and Madam Pomfrey shouted "No!" simultaneously and Madam Pomfrey put a staying hand on Harry's arm.

Harry froze. The force and suddenness of their reaction had frightened him. What followed was a rapid succession of raw emotions playing across Harry's face: shock, fear and shame, ending in anger. He jerked his trousers back up and turned his head away, lip jutting out defiantly. "My not gon' show _nobody_ my big-boy-pants. My wan doe _home_!"

Draco just stared dumbly at Harry. He was quite stunned, and more than a bit mortified at Harry's offer to 'drop trou' in the middle of a well-trafficked hallway. But more than that, it pained Draco to see Harry so distraught. He wanted to eradicate the look of abject hurt and anger on Harry's face, and he wished he knew what to do to make the boy happy again. It was only then that Draco realized Madam Pomfrey was speaking lowly to Harry.

"…lovely new pants. It's simply that they are a private thing and one does not show them willy-nilly in the middle of a hospital full of strangers."

The effect that the Nurse's words were having on Harry was to cause his jutting lip to tremble. Draco felt an unbidden desperation rise inside him to stop that tremble from becoming a full-fledged cry. "Hey, Harry!" he blurted out. "Guess what? Healer Vanes said I might be able to visit you at –"

Harry's face lit up instantly and he grabbed Draco's robe sleeve, shaking it excitedly. "You don come a'day, Dayco? Oh! My don show you my toys, an' my books, an' my…"

As Harry continued his list in earnest, Draco found it impossible to interrupt. He could do little more than get out a feeble, "Uh," when Harry took a breath. Snape had spoken of the possibility of a visit_ in a few weeks_, as long as Draco continued making steady progress as he had been. A few weeks. Now Draco was beginning to realize the full impact of his misguided attempt to appease Harry – and he hadn't a clue as to how to untangle himself from the boy's enthusiasm.

"…an you can meet my fends, Dobby an' Ahgi, an' Pafessor Fitwick, an' Pafessor Telawny – she gots _big_ glasses –"

"Harry," Madam Pomfrey smoothly cut in, and Draco marveled at how easy she made it look. Harry stopped and looked back at his caregiver. "Unfortunately, your friend, Draco, isn't well enough to come today." Before Harry could fuss, Pomfrey held up a hand and continued. "And we don't want to make him feel more badly about that than he already does."

Draco didn't need to fake an expression of despair to help convince Harry of this. He was feeling the full impact of the Nurse's words: He _wasn't_ well enough. He still had flashbacks and fade-outs and nightmares. Sometimes his body would shake uncontrollably in a panic attack, and he would run back to his room or to Vanes' office.

Harry studied Draco's face a moment. He did not like Draco to have a sad face. "Dat be otay, Dayco," he said, and gave Draco a heartfelt hug. "My tan bring more toys a'show you here." And then Harry gasped as he had a sudden idea. "Oh! Pomfee! I know! Tan my bring Dobby to pay wif me an' Dayco? He very funny, an' dat gon make Dayco feel all better!"

Madam Pomfrey took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. _Pick your battles_, she cautioned herself before speaking. I'll see if I can arrange something, Harry, but remember, Dobby is very busy, and he may not have …time to come here for a visit."

As Harry was about to reply, Madam Pomfrey held her hand up. "We will discuss it later, at home. But right now I want you to try and use the loo. We want to keep your new pants nice and dry now, don't we? And it would be rude to keep Healer Vanes waiting. Draco, why don't you take Harry and then meet us upstairs. I need to speak to the Healer before Harry's session begins." With that, she surreptitiously cast a monitoring charm on Harry, spun on her heel and headed towards the lift.

Draco stood frozen in place staring after her, until Harry grabbed his hand and began shaking his arm. "Tum on, Dayco!" He looked back to be sure Madam Pomfrey had alighted the lift, before adding in a conspiratorial whisper, "Den I _am_ don show you my pants."

Draco wasn't sure how they got to the loo – _Blast!_ He'd faded out again, and this time, it was while he was responsible for Harry. That was _not_ on. He tried to quickly get his bearings. Harry was beside him, using the urinal. If his lighthearted chatter was any indication, Harry was not aware that Draco had 'left' him.

"…an' my don have teacle a'night if my pants be dry all day."

"Er, that's really good of you, Harry," Draco said, feeling the need to prove his presence to himself more than to Harry, who hadn't seemed to notice anything was amiss.

Harry turned to Draco, warmed by the other boy's unexpected praise. Draco jumped back with a shout of surprise, but it was too late – Harry had accidentally sprayed a dark line of pee across the hem of Draco's robes.

"Uh oh," said Harry with a giggle, "my got wee on dose robes!"

"That's not funny, Harry," said Draco, unable to hide his grimace of disgust.

"My sorry, Dayco," said Harry, still smiling. "It be otay. You tan just do Scourgify. Den it be all clean," he added brightly.

What was wrong with him today? Draco felt so raw and out of control, and he had to fight with every ounce of his waning will to remain present. As Draco struggled to master himself, he said in as calm a voice as he could manage, "You need a wand to do Scourgify, Harry, and I haven't got one. Now, if you're quite done, pull up your trousers."

"Huh. Maybe Pomfee tan get you one. She don get me one when I a _big_, big boy."

"Uh, thanks, but I'm not allowed a wand, Harry." Draco wasn't quite sure why he was telling Harry this. The surprising result was another of Harry's consoling hugs. He swallowed hard and said, "Yeah, well, it's alright. Now wash your hands. We don't want to keep Healer Vanes waiting."

TBC...

**A/N:** "The **glumbumble** is a grey, furry-bodied flying insect that produces melancholy-inducing treacle" (Rowling, 2001). I have taken the liberty of calling this treacle "glumbumble," as well. Points to anyone who knows what a **jobberknoll** is!

As to the title of this chapter, guess who saw Mr Radcliff on Broadway last week? \o/


	23. Saturday

**Regarding Harry**

**By Tsujton**

**Disclaimer**: Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit from this story.

**Summary**: Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old. Ever so slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**Chapter 23: Saturday**

The next morning, Poppy Pomfrey greeted the sunrise with a groan. The pale morning light felt as an assault on her eyes when she tried to open them, and a wave of nausea quickly followed. Poppy reached blindly towards her nightstand and grappled for her wand.

"_Accio Medibag_," she rasped, surprised at the weakness of her voice. She barely caught the little black satchel as it sailed to her from across the room. Braving the light, she cracked one eye open, and fumbled around in the bag for the bottle of headache potion. After downing a dose straight from the bottle, she felt the pain recede to a dull ache. The nausea however, remained. The Nurse lay back down and tried taking slow, calming breaths, hoping it would pass. Before it did, Poppy had fallen back to sleep.

~o~

Harry loved Saturdays! The grown-ups all seemed much happier on Saturdays, and Harry was often treated to outings, such as visiting Ron and Ginny at The Burrow, or going to Hogsmead for a new book or some ice cream. He rubbed his Draco Sleeve against his cheek and gave it a reassuring sniff, as he wondered what was in store for him on this Saturday.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his stomach grumbling, and he got up to join Madam Pomfrey at breakfast. Only when he opened his nursery door, his caregiver was not seated as she usually was, at the table with a cup of tea.

Harry looked around the rest of the room, but Madam Pomfrey wasn't on the sofa, in her reading chair or even at her little writing desk.

"Pomfee?" he called, "Where you?"

There was no answer, so Harry walked to her bedroom door and opened it a crack. He called a little louder, "Pomfee, I awake!"

Harry pushed the door wider and stepped inside. His caregiver was still asleep! Harry had never woken up first before. He stood there for a few moments, unsure of what to do – and then he had an idea.

Harry backed out of the room, and as quietly as he could, closed her door. He knelt before the grate in the main room and called, "Dobby!"

The elf appeared instantly beside Harry with a small 'pop'.

"Good morning, Harry Potter, sir. What can Dobby be doing for you, today?"

"Hi Dobby! Harry-Podder-sir wants 'a supise Pomfee wif bekfast!

Dobby looked about the room, brow furrowed. "Is… Harry Potter being alone?"

"No, silly, my gots _you_ here. An' Pomfee – she aseep in bed."

"Oh," the elf sounded relieved. "What can Dobby be getting Harry Potter for breakfast?"

Harry hadn't thought that far ahead. What would be a special treat for breakfast? "How 'booouuuut, teacle tart! An' ice ceam, an' chocate bickies? Oh, an' tea," he added as an afterthought. "Pomfee _yuvs_ tea."

"Is Harry Potter _sure_ that is what he wants Dobby to bring?" said the elf doubtfully. "For breakfast?"

"Yup," nodded Harry, pleased with himself. "Oh, an' my wants punkin juice too, pease, Dobby."

"Of course, sir," said the elf, basking in Harry's use of the word, "please." "Dobby shall fetch your breakfast at once!" and with that, he disappeared.

While Dobby was gone, Harry decided to set the table all by himself. He wanted to make it look just the way Madam Pomfrey did when she had company for tea, like Professor McGonagall or Healer Chang. He was extra careful as he took down each teacup, saucer and dish, one by one from the breakfront. He had just set down the last dish, and had pulled the silverware out of the breakfront drawer, when Dobby returned with a heavily laden serving tray.

"Dobby has brought Harry Potter's breakfast," he announced with some trepidation, unloading the platters to the table. Noticing that there were three place settings, Dobby asked, "Is Harry Potter expecting a guest for breakfast?"

"Nope," said Harry, barely paying attention to the elf. His tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth, as he concentrated on setting the silver in a neat little row at each place. "Jus' you, an' me, an' Pomfee."

The house-elf's emotions still got the better of him whenever he was shown such courtesy. Dobby shed tears of gratitude, as he sniffed, "H-H-Harry Potter is such a kind, generous wizard…"

At the choked sound of Dobby's voice, Harry looked up quizzically. "Why am you cryin' Dobby? You not like teacle? You wan' have toast an' jam? 'Cause we can have dats, too. Don't cry, Dobby, pease."

It took great effort, but at that simple request, Dobby straightened his shoulders and made a rather phlegmy sounding reverse snort. "Dobby will not cry, Master Harry," he promised, voice still wavering. "Dobby will go now and bring Harry Potter some toast and jam."

"Fanks, Dobby. Harry-Podder likes a' have toast an' jam, too," he added reassuringly.

Harry finished setting out the silver and realized he'd forgotten the serviettes. They were kept in the drawer below the silverware, Harry knew. He tried to pull it open, but it wouldn't budge. Madam Pomfrey always had to use an unsticking charm to get it open, but, of course, Harry couldn't do that, so he pulled and pulled at the drawer handle until it suddenly gave way and came out of the breakfront entirely, crashing loudly on the stone floor.

"Oh, no, my boked it," whispered Harry plaintively. In a panic, he lifted the drawer and tried to fit it back in, but was startled by Madam Pomfrey's voice.

"Harry?" she called hoarsely.

He dropped the drawer on his foot, but before he even had time to register the pain, Madam Pomfrey lurched towards him and fell to the floor in a dead faint.

"Pomfee!" Harry rushed to her side. "Pomfee, wake up!" But the Hogwarts Nurse did not move or answer him. Harry started patting her back the way his caregiver sometimes did to comfort him. But she remained unresponsive.

Just then, Dobby popped back in, holding up a large platter with stacks of toast and an array of jams in little crystal dishes.

"Dobby!" he pleaded to the startled elf, "Help Pomfee, she not waking up!"

"Dobby will get help," he said, and just as suddenly, disappeared, leaving the platter behind to crash to the floor.

Harry covered his ears against the noise of it, and crouched closer to Madam Pomfrey's prone form. "Pease… Don't yeave me," he whispered, unsure himself if his entreaty was meant for Dobby or for his caregiver. He rested his head against Madam Pomfrey's still form, slipped his thumb in his mouth and tried not to cry.

Dobby reappeared immediately with Professor McGonagall in tow.

"Oh, my, Poppy! What's happened here?" The Headmistress knelt beside her friend and placed a palm gently against the Nurses' cheek. "She's burning up – we must get her to St. Mungo's immediately!" The elder witch conjured a stretcher and set Madam Pomfrey upon it with a gently cast, _Mobilicorpus_, and used a second spell to wrap her snugly to the stretcher with a blanket.

Harry stared dumbly, trying to see where the fire was. To his relief – and confusion – he could see no flames on his caregiver.

"Dobby, you stay here with Harry. I shall send for Mrs Weasley to look after him." With that, she floated the stretcher out of the room in front of her, leaving a very frightened boy and a very worried house-elf behind.

When Molly Weasley arrived, not five minutes later, neither had spoken or moved from his spot.

"Oh, Harry. You poor dear," Mrs Weasley knelt beside him and enfolded him in a tight embrace.

From the safety of Mrs Weasley's arms, Harry let his tears flow. He cried and cried, and Mrs Weasley let him, gently stroking his hair and whispering words of reassurance. At last, Harry's tears subsided, and Mrs Weasley gently guided him to the nursery.

"Dobby, I need to send some owls. Can you fetch me a quill, ink and some parchment, please?"

Dobby nodded eagerly, glad of something to do, and winked out. To Harry, Mrs Weasley said, "I think a bit of a lie down is in order, dear." Numbly, Harry crawled onto his bed, and Mrs Weasley drew the bedclothes over him. Harry took up his Draco Sleeve, put his thumb back in his mouth, and frowning around it, closed his eyes.

Mrs Weasley took a seat on the rocker by Harry's bed and conjured a small writing tray on her lap and a footstool. Dobby returned with the requested items and two owls who immediately perched themselves on the footboard of Harry's bed. Molly thanked the house-elf and sent him to tidy up the suite, before she turned to her missives.

_Arthur Dear,_

_I've settled Harry down and plan to stay here for the duration – though I haven't a clue as to how long that will be. I am heartbroken to miss our Percy's birthday. Please tell him how sorry I am and give him an extra squeeze from me. The presents are hidden in the cupboard above the sink. They have been transfigured into a stack of dishes. A simple _Finite_ should do the trick. The cake is in the icebox under a disillusionment charm. It's the jar of Aunt Murial's rosehip preserves. __DON'T LET THE TWINS NEAR IT__, and be sure to check the candles for curses and hexes before you light them. Arthur, dear, you know how Forge like to tease Percy, and I especially don't want anything to upset him today. You __know__ how hard it was to convince him to let us celebrate as a family._

_Don't forget to send Ron to Florean's to pick up the ice cream, and remind him to get vanilla, Percy's favorite – and NO strawberry, he's allergic._

_Sorry to be leaving all this to you dear, but I'm sure you'll be fine._

_Yours,_

_Mollywobbles_

_P.S. If the twins do give you any trouble, remind them that they are not too old to receive a howler from their mum._

She was about to attach the first letter to the Barred owl's leg (the other owl, a Great Gray, was looking rather worse for wear, reminding her sadly of Errol), when a tabby cat patronus with spectacle eye markings appeared before her. It said, in Minerva McGonagall's voice, "Please tell Harry, Madam Pomfrey will be fine. It's just a doxy virus that's been going around. The Healers think she will be well enough to return home by the end of the week. Can Harry stay at The Burrow in the meantime?"

"Of course, Minerva," said Molly.

As the cat faded to a silvery mist and disappeared, Molly heard it faintly say, "Thank you for watching Harry."

She quickly scratched out a second note for Arthur, telling him the news, and attached both to the waiting owl's leg. Molly sent the second owl, with some trepidation (he really looked quite exhausted), to Hermione Granger, explaining briefly what happened, telling her that Molly would be bringing Harry to The Burrow, and asking if she was free to visit him in the next few days.

Checking first to see that Harry was indeed asleep – and he was – Molly set a charm alarm to nudge her if Harry so much as stirred. And then, she put her feet up on the footstool, leaned back in the rocker, and did something she never would have been able to do at The Burrow: she rested in blissful silence.

~o~

Rufus Scrimgeour set the hastily written parchment down on his desk with a toothy smile. _Finally_, the opportunity he had been waiting for. Young Weasley had come through for him again. Yes, he was notoriously pompous to others, and a bit of a bootlicker to his betters, but he was loyal. That boy was due for a promotion, and the Minister for Magic made a note of that on his 'pending acts' scroll.

Minister Scrimgeour knew he had to act swiftly and with force. He had several plans ready for an opportunity such as this. He sent his patronus to alert Auror Sanchez that "The Potter Play' was in motion. Sanchez's task was to pick up one Rita Skeeter and deliver her to the Minister's office for an exclusive. Scrimgeour could see the headlines now: POTTER GAURDIAN UNFIT – MINISTER FOR MAGIC SAVES THE DAY.

~o~

Mrs Weasley woke, not to the charm alarm – for Harry was still fast asleep, but to the whoosh of someone coming through the floo in the main room. She got up to greet the new arrival; it was Hermione Granger.

"Oh, you are such a dear," Molly gave the girl a powerful hug and received one in return. "I didn't mean for you to drop everything and come now!"

"It's all right, Mrs Weasley, really. I was just doing some light reading. I had nothing special planned for today."

Molly imagined that 'light reading' for Hermione Granger was likely to be Arithmantic Innovations or New Theories of Magical Evolution.

"Where's Harry? He must be so frightened."

Mrs Weasley gestured to the nursery. "He's asleep. The poor thing wore himself out crying."

"I can stay with Harry if you like, Mrs Weasley. I know it's Percy's birthday today, Ron told me about your family party. I'm sure it will go better if you're there – Oh, no, uh, I mean… I'm sure you _want_ to be there…" Hermione's cheeks were tinged pink as she trailed off.

Mrs Weasley smiled warmly at the young witch before her. "Right in two, Hermione. You know my boys well enough. I _am_ a bit worried. It's not been easy to keep the peace between Percy and Ron and the twins. But, I don't want to leave you –"

"Honest, Mrs Weasley, it's no bother. You should go. I'll take care of Harry."

"Oh, I don't doubt that, my dear. In fact, I've no doubt you'll make a fine mother someday."

Hermione blushed again, and Mrs Weasley added, "Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to imply… well, it's just that Ron speaks so highly of you – I mean of how patient you are with Harry." Molly could see by the deepening of the colour on Hermione's face that she was only making things worse. "Never mind, dear. Well," she hesitated, "I _do_ want to go back to The Burrow – if you're _sure_…"

"I am, Mrs Weasley. I promise to floo call if we need anything."

"Very well, Hermione dear." She gave Hermione another embrace and took a handful of floo powder from the ceramic jar on the mantle. "You promise, now? _Anything_ at all and you'll call me?"

"I promise." Hermione gave Mrs Weasley what she hoped was a reassuring and confident look, and then, the older witch was gone in a flash of green flame.

Hermione let out a deep sigh of relief. It wasn't that she didn't like Ron's mum – she did, really she did – but somehow, the Weasley matriarch always managed to say something that made Hermione turn pink with embarrassment. The only end Hermione could see to it was if she and Ron got married, and neither of them was ready for that. She knew from Ron that his mother was constantly dropping not-so-subtle hints to him on the subject – much to Ron's mortification, particularly if Fred and George were in earshot. Their teasing was relentless, and even cruel at times. It made Hermione glad she was an only child.

Hermione's thoughts turned quickly to Harry, when she heard him call from the nursery.

"Pomfee?"

Hermione entered the nursery and was greeted by Harry's look of disappointment and sorrow. It took the young witch back to the first time Harry had seen her after Lucius Malfoy attacked him. It was almost a déjà vu. Well, technically, she reasoned, it was _not_ a déjà vu. Because she really _had_ been there before. Sort of. Only the last time it was at Hagrid's, and it was his mum that Harry was missing. She couldn't help the tear that fell. Why was the world so cruel to Harry. He had given everything and here he was suffering again.

"Don't worry, Harry. Madam Pomfrey is going to be alright. She just got a little sick, and she needs the Healers at St. Mungo's to help her get better. Then she can come back home."

Harry said nothing, but gave Hermione a sorrowful look and put his thumb in his mouth. He curled his forefinger over his nose and held his Draco Sleeve with the remaining fingers. Harry's stomach chose that moment to give a loud rumble.

Hermione smiled at him. "It's nearly lunchtime, Harry. Let's get you dressed and we can ask Dobby to bring something up for us to eat." Hermione looked through Harry's wardrobe, and didn't see the tears welling up in his eyes at this reminder of what had happened that morning. She laid out a t-shirt and pants, trousers and socks, and a blue button down shirt at the foot of Harry's bed. "Do you need help getting dressed?" Hermione had read that routines were comforting to preschoolers experiencing stressful changes. So she made her best guess as to what Harry's normal routine with Madam Pomfrey was. It appeared to be working, because Harry pushed back his covers and climbed out of bed.

"My need help wif da buttons," he said softly. And for some reason, that made Hermione want to cry again. Harry was so_ brave_ – whatever his age.

"Alright, Harry. Why don't you get started, while I arrange lunch. I'll be right back to help you with your buttons." Without waiting for a reply, Hermione left the nursery. It was a lot harder to do than she imagined, but she made herself keep to the plan of 'normalcy'. That didn't mean not talking about Madam Pomfrey being sick or Harry's missing her, but it did mean that she would not smother him with over coddling. _That_ seemed _very_ un-Pomfrey-like.

In the main room, Hermione had barely started to call Dobby's name when he crawled out from under the table, giving Hermione quite a start. "Dobby! What on earth are you doing under there?"

"Dobby is so sorry, Mistress Hermione. Dobby didn't mean to startle. Dobby just wanted to be ready the moment Harry Potter needed help."

"You are a true friend, Dobby." The elf looked so distraught, Hermione didn't have the heart to remind him not to call her 'Mistress'. "I know Harry appreciates you."

Predictably, Dobby's eyes welled up with tears.

"Could you possibly help by bringing up some lunch up for Harry and me. You're welcome to join us, of course – I'm sure Harry would like your company."

Dobby is honoured to be asked, Mistress!" he whispered in amazement, and off he went – returning remarkably fast with their lunch.

Halfway through the meal, there was a knock at the door.

It was Ron.

Hermione sighed. She had been fairly certain that Mrs Weasley's hope of a congenial family gathering was premature at best. But for once, she wished she were wrong. Ron's presence alone told her she wasn't. And the look on his face hinted at a spectacularly bad row.

"You may as well sit down. There's plenty of food, if you've still an appetite."

It was Ron's turn to sigh. He was relieved that Hermione hadn't asked him what'd happened at The Burrow (though he figured he was only getting this reprieve because Harry was there).

"Thanks 'Moine." He took a seat beside Harry and across from Hermione and Dobby (whom Ron noticed was not eating, but was beaming – as though he'd just won the World Cup), and began to fill the plate that had appeared before him. To Harry he said, "Hullo, mate. Wanna play snitch catch after lunch?"

Harry frowned, dripping spoonfuls of soup back into his bowl. He had an elbow on the table and was resting his chin in his hand. "Pomfee sick," was all he said without looking up.

"Yeah, mate. I know. But everybody gets sick sometimes. She'll be alright soon."

Rather than reassure him, Ron's comments caused Harry to glance up, a look of distress marring his face. "_Evyone_ gon' be sick?"

"No, Harry. What Ron _means_," and Hermione gave Ron a pointed look, "is that _sometimes_ people get sick. It doesn't happen _all_ the time. But Harry," she put her arm around his shoulder. "When it does happen, like with Madam Pomfrey, we have Healers to help them get better."

This seemed to mollify Harry somewhat, and he absently slurped a spoonful of soup.

Ron rubbed his face hard and ran his fingers through his fringe, pushing it back. He gave Hermione a look that was both grateful and apologetic, and tucked in to some buttered rolls.

Their lunch was finished in silence, the dishes disappearing from the table (followed by Dobby, who didn't want to overstay his welcome), just as they did in the Great Hall. Harry didn't want to play with the snitch, his mood was still low, so they took a walk down to the lake instead. Hermione transfigured some fallen leaves into little sailboats for Harry and Ron to launch. Then all three tossed pebbles in the water, making ripples to move the boats further out. Every now and then, Hermione would charm one of Harry's pebbles with a whispered spell, so that his would create ripples that more resembled little waves. By the time they left the lake, Harry was in better spirits, and behaving a bit more like himself.

"My-Nee? We go see Ahgi, next? Maybe he finded Darvey."

Hermione was glad to see Harry taking an interest in something. It was unfortunate, though, that it was in the pet that had run off. Still, she wanted to engage him, so she agreed, and the three friends walked as they had done so often in their school days, down the path to Hagrid's. They found their large friend by the small animal pens beside the back garden. Hagrid was tending to a jobberknoll that was missing about half of his feathers.

"Oi, you three! Good ter see yeh!" He waved a massive hand in greeting, but kept the other on the jobberknoll. It was pecking at his fingers with its sharp beak, but the half-giant didn't seem to notice.

They returned Hagrid's hullos, and Harry asked, "What happen dat bird's feavers? Ahgi?"

"Oh, Finley here?" It was astounding to think that Hagrid could have forgotten the bird in his hand, which was so viciously pecking at him. "Poor fella. Got into some balding beetles I was breedin'. Y'see, their, erm, droppin's –you'll pardon the expression, Hermione – makes a fertilizer that grows easy to shell peas. Turns out, they make for easy to molt birds as well. I was jest puttin' some sun salve on 'is bald spots, so 'e don't get burned. Almost out, too. Mebbe I'll walk yeh back an' get another jar from Madam Pomfrey."

At the mention of his absent caregiver's name, Harry's face fell. And before Hagrid could ask, Hermione explained, "Madam Pomfrey is in St. Mungo's, Hagrid. She fell ill this morning and it gave Harry quite a fright." She hastily added, "But not to worry, The Healers are taking good care of her, and she'll be back in no time."

"I'm sorry ter hear that. Tell ye what, Harry, lemme jest finish wi' Finley, here, an' we can go pick some flowers to bring to Madam Pomfrey. Flowers always cheer me up when I'm feelin' sickly."

Harry nodded. He seemed taken with that idea, and he looked to Hermione for consent and even smiled a little when she said, "That's a _great_ idea!"

"Uh, I'll help, too," said Ron, hastily.

"Oh no you won't, Ronald Weasley!" Hermione grabbed his sleeve and gave it a sharp tug. "_We_ have things to discuss." To Hagrid and Harry she said, "We'll wait for you two here," adding, "Take your time," just as Ron squeaked out,

"Don't be too long!" He met Hermione's eyes, and Ron knew he was defeated. "Never mind," he mumbled over his shoulder, as Hermione pulled him towards the back steps.

~o~ ~o~ ~o~

**A/N:** Thanks for reading and reviewing!

7


	24. Lions and Quaffles and Tears

**Regarding Harry**

**By Tsuj**

**Disclaimer**: Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit from this story.

**Summary**: Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old. Ever so slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**Chapter 24: Lions and Quaffles and Tears, Oh My!**

Hagrid, Hermione, Ron and Harry sat uncomfortably in the Weasley's living room. The mismatched and much patched seating was comfortable of course, but this did little to mitigate their experiencing the wrath of Molly Weasley – despite the fact that it was not directed at any of them.

"'…We understand that you have special circumstances, but if we bend the rules for one, it opens the floo to others'? " Molly waved the crumpled parchment Hermione had handed her for emphasis. "What a bunch of bloody idiots!

"_Oh_! Sorry dears." It was very unlike Molly to curse in front of company, but she was so incensed. "After all he's done, how can they _do_ this to him?"

"They _can't_ do this, Mrs. Weasley. Chronologically, Harry is of age, and because of the guardianship, he is essentially Madam Pomfrey's next of kin; they have a legal obligation to let him visit her. But the Nurse at the desk refused. He said that Harry's records indicated he was –" Hermione glanced at Harry, who sat ramrod straight, staring in stunned silence as Mrs. Weasley raged, and amended what she had been about to say. " Well, that he was too young, and couldn't be allowed on the ward."

The Nurse, Harcourt was his name, had rudely held up his hand at their protestations. He wasn't the slightest bit intimidated by Hagrid's presence. He simply handed Hermione the scroll of hospital visiting policies and dismissed them, calling out, "Next!" Hermione had wasted no time in penning an owl (she sent it from the lobby!) to St. Mungo's head of public relations, who had sent back the reply, which Molly was now abusing.

Hermione noticed the white of Harry's knuckles where he gripped Hagrid's fingers, and, seeking to calm the situation, added, "Well, at least he promised that Harry's flowers would be delivered to Madam Pomfrey," bravely giving Mrs. Weasley a pointed look. She thought it best, though, to leave out how Harry had unwittingly picked most of the new variety of asphodel flowers that Professor Sprout had been developing behind Greenhouse One. To her credit, when the Herbology professor discovered this, she had merely redirected Harry away from the remains of her precious cultivars and excused herself with over-bright eyes.

"And I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will be delighted to know that Harry is thinking of her." Hermione maintained eye contact with Mrs. Weasley as she continued. "But Harry, I also know that Madam Pomfrey would not want you to worry about her."

At last, Mrs. Weasley's indignation subsided enough for her to catch the young witch's drift, and with a remorseful look, add to her reassurances. "Yes, yes, Harry dear. Hermione is absolutely right." With great effort, Molly reigned the rest of her anger and calmly announced, "I'm going to St. Mungo's to straighten this out. Hagrid, will you come? I think together we've a good chance of persuading them to see... _our_ side of things."

"'Caurse, Molly," Hagrid nodded, very aware of the fact that, despite his size, Molly was the more intimidating of the two.

"Meanwhile," Molly returned Hermione's pointed look, "I'm going to make you three a picnic. It's a lovely afternoon and I see no sense in you moping about indoors. I'll just be a moment." With that, Molly disappeared and returned in an almost Dobby-like fashion with a huge covered basket.

"Here you go, dears." Mrs. Weasley foisted the basket upon Ron and before he, Hermione and Harry could even blink, Mrs. Weasley had ushered them out the door in a whirlwind of maternal determination.

"Right, then, Hagrid. Shall we?" She held out the chipped jar of floo powder for him, and as soon as the green flames subsided in his wake, Molly threw down her own handful and practically roared, "ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL!"

~o~

Ron, Hermione and a rather apathetic Harry walked past the garden to the hilly wooded area behind the Weasleys' makeshift quidditch pitch. As they were crossing the pitch, Ron paused from the strain of carrying his load and wiped the sweat from his face with a sleeve.

"What'd Mum pack in here anyways? Bricks? Rock Cakes?" whinged Ron.

Hermione surreptitiously put a featherlight charm on the picnic basket and Ron let out a great sigh.

"Thanks 'Moine," he gave her a sheepish grin, and she blushed in return. His grins – sheepish and otherwise – had been having that effect on her with increasing regularity. Once Ron had managed to suss that out, he made it a point to grin at her with increasing regularity.

"Why don't we stop here, and you and Harry can play for a bit." Before Ron could open his mouth to say, 'With what?', Hermione had transfigured a flowering foxglove stem into a quaffle (earning her yet another cheek pinkening grin). "Go on, Harry. Get the quaffle. it'll be fun." Harry reluctantly complied as Hermione took the picnic basket from Ron and set it down, saying, "Come back over when you're hungry – _really_ hungry, Ronald," she emphasised, effectively stopping him saying, 'I'm always hungry!'

"Oi! Harry! Pass it here,' Ron held out his hands waiting to catch the ball.

Harry let out a deep sigh and tossed the quaffle halfheartedly to Ron. It fell short, but Ron just went closer to Harry and grabbed it up.

"Now, catch. Get your arms up, Harry. You can do it." Ron was now only a few feet away and he lobbed the ball gently towards Harry. Harry caught it and Ron let out a whoop that startled Harry, so he dropped it.

"That was a wicked catch, Harry! C'mon, let's go again!"

Hermione sat down beside the basket, after casting a strong cushioning charm on the uneven ground. Soon, her nose was in a book Mrs. Weasley had thoughtfully included. It was, _Charm Your Own Cheese_ by Gerda Catchlove. Not what Hermione would have chosen for herself, but then, Mrs Weasley had been in a hurry and she was thankful to have anything to read, really. Thinking about it in terms of an anthropological study helped some - and was a lot better than thinking that this was a subtle hint from Mrs Weasley.

Harry and Ron had moved a ways further down the pitch from Hermione. Harry was finally loosening up a bit, when Ron fell.

"Shite!" he said and instantly regretted it. Hermione would not be pleased to hear Ron using such language in front of Harry. Ron looked to see what he had tripped over. _Just a stupid rock._ And he had landed on another, sharper one, which left him a bit dizzy.

Harry froze when he saw blood running down the side of Ron's face.

Ron gritted his teeth against the growing pain so as not to further alarm Harry. "Harry – go get Hermione. Sh-she's great at healing spells." He pulled his shirt off, popping the buttons in the process. He waded it up and pressed it to his head, trying to staunch the blood flow.

Harry ran as fast as he could, calling wildly, "My-Nee! My-Nee! Come qick!" Harry stumbled as he approached her, but scrambled to his feet, ignoring his skinned palms. "Non-Non's-head-bud-is-comin'-all-out!"

Hermione had dropped the book and jumped up to meet Harry as soon as she heard his frantic approach. "Slow down, Harry. I can't understand you. Where's Ron?"

Harry pulled her by the hand, though his own stung, begging, "Hurry, My-Nee, _pease_,!"

Hermione's breath caught. Something must have happened to Ron. He would _never_ have let Harry out of his sight otherwise. Yes, he could come off as a bit irresponsible and liaises faire, but when it came to Harry, Hermione knew Ron took his job as caretaker very seriously. She quickly surveyed the pitch, and saw Ron wasn't that far off. She dashed after Harry to help, desperately hoping Ron was okay.

They came upon their companion as he was leaning forward, clutching his shirt to his head. His face was pale and pinched. Blood had soaked partly through the shirt. It looked quite gruesome and Hermione steeled herself against flashes of Harry's open scar wound threatening to surface in her mind.

In that moment, Harry started babbling nervously. "Can you fitz him, My-nee? His good head bud is comin' out. What if _all_ his head bud come outs? Am he gon' be a bad boy? Am he–"

"Hush, Harry," she said sharply. "There's no such thing as 'head blood'. It's all the same blood running through our bodies. Now sit over there quietly and let me concentrate on taking care of Ron,"

Realizing immediately that she had been too short with Harry, Hermione soothed, "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to snap at you. Don't worry. He'll be fine."

Ron gave Hermione a sheepish look, but with a grimace rather than a grin.. He didn't want to alarm Harry further. But when Hermione cast "_Episke_" on him, Ron couldn't suppress a grunt of pain.

As Hermione tended to Ron, Harry sat on the ground, holding his knees and shaking. His mind was racing with worry for his friend and also with what Hermione had just told him about blood. _It's all the same blood_? If that were so, then he wouldn't need to get under his impenetrable bandage to get his bad blood out. He could get it out anywhere!

He looked down at his hands; his palms were still stinging. He held them up for closer inspection. Just a few tiny dots of red on pink, raw skin where he had broken his fall on his way to get Hermione. His hands were _bleeding_. And _that_ was bad blood, too. Bad blood was coming out of him so that he could be a good boy and not hurt his caregiver or friends. With a surreptitious look at Hermione and Ron to be sure they weren't watching, Harry went to work grinding his right palm into the ground to get more bad blood out. He suspected that Hermione would try to stop him, once she saw what he was doing, so he turned away from her to hide his actions. Hermione was, indeed, so focused on healing and cleaning up Ron, she didn't notice what Harry was up to.

His palm hurt, but he kept at it, the whole time whimpering and whispering, "Get out' me, get out bad bud!" without even realizing it. He was so intent on his task he did not hear Ron and Hermione approaching him until it was too late _NO!_ They had found him and the blood hadn't stopped coming out. Harry knew that meant the bad blood wasn't all out of him yet.

"Harry! NO! What are you doing? Stop that at once!" Hermione grabbed his wrist but Harry yanked it back.

"No! My need a' do dat!"

"No, you don't, Harry" ordered Hermione, a bit shocked to hear Harry saying 'No'.

Ron, still a bit dizzy, asked, "Why would you even _think_ that?"

Ron did not get an answer to his question. Harry remained stubbornly quiet as they made their way back, and Hermione was uncharacteristically stymied over what to do. She felt a sudden surge of admiration for Mrs Weasley. Parenting all those kids – all those _boys_! How did she do it? And here Hermione was, practically confunded by just one Harry.

By the time the trio arrived back at the patchwork of rooms and levels that was the Burrow, Hagrid and Mrs Weasley had not yet returned. But Percy was there.

Seeing his brother's condition, Percy stopped short and then sneered, "Get that injury thinking too hard, _ickle Non-Non_?" And What's wrong with Mum?" he demanded of Ron.

"Nothing," he wanted to add, 'you prat', but held back mostly in deference to the swat on the arm he would receive from Hermione for talking that way in front of Harry.

"_Nothing_? What do you mean, 'nothing'? The clock says she's at St Mungo's. Tell me what's happened, right now!"

"Don't get your Ministry-issue knickers in a twist. She just went with Hagrid to..sort sommat out."

Hermione cleared her throat and glared at Ron. "I'm sure she'll be back soon, and I'm _sure_ we can be civil as we wait." and she gave Percy an even more scathing look.

"Humph," sniffed Percy, indignantly. "Could you two be any more vague? What is Mum doing there? – And for your information, there is no such thing as 'Ministry issue pants'."

"Pomfee sick," offered Harry, speaking for the first time since the incident on the pitch. "An' dey not gon' yet me see her." He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to act like a big boy would.

"She's going to be _fine_, Harry. Don't worry. It will take a few days, but then she _will_ come home." She put a hand on Harry's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Soooo...that means Harry is staying here then, is he?"

Percy took to this news with interest, which immediately made both Ron and Hermione suspicious.

"Wot's it to you, you pra- Percy?" Ron caught himself just in time. He was able to maintain a somewhat cool exterior by running through a silent string of insults directed at his older brother. Something along the lines of, 'You bloody, buggering, snivel-nosed, shrivelfig-brained-' from there the insults grew more colourful, and Ron even smiled a little.

"_Nothing_," said Percy, mocking Ron's earlier tone of disdain. Then he turned smartly on his heel and went upstairs without another word.

After a few moments of silence, Harry asked, "My go outside an' watch da antses?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks of incredulity. Harry was acting as though he hadn't just been caught trying to scrape his hand raw.

After a beat, Hermione said, "I'll come with you, Harry." She pretended to have missed Ron's involuntary shudder.

Harry was – most unfortunately for Ron – fascinated by bugs of all kinds. Hermione thought that maybe Harry could study insects and become an entomologist, while Ron thought that Muggles were insane to have an entire profession dedicated to the study of the repulsive vermin. The very idea made his skin crawl anew and he shuddered again. It was just his luck that Harry also shared Hagrid's inexplicable fascination for spiders.

"Uh, I'll just go put away the picnic stuff," said Ron as he dashed for the kitchen.

Hermione filed that away for future reference ('that', being Ron's volunteering to do a chore rather than face the possibility of seeing a bug). Then, as she ran up to Ron's room to borrow a couple of Weasley jumpers against the advancing chill, her thoughts returned to Harry's strange behaviour.

~o~

Harry did not wait for Hermione. In fact, the second she was out of sight, he dashed through the narrow hall and out the back door. He had to get rid of his bad blood, and he had to find someplace to hide, so no one would stop him. He was not far from Mr Weasley's shed. Mrs Weasley said it was full of broken Muggle things. She had warned Harry to stay out of there, lest he get hurt on something.

When Hermione reached the bottom of the stairs, two jumpers emblazoned with "RBW" in hand, Harry was not in the living room. She looked out the front door, displeased with the possibility that Harry had gone to look for bugs under the loose paving stones by himself. Ginny was Harry's usual 'bug buddy', but Hermione was absolutely certain that the youngest Weasley would never allow Harry to to go ahead without her – even just to the yard. And besides, Harry wasn't there.

Neither was he visible outside the back door. She called to him, but got no answer. She yelled down to Ron in the kitchen., "I can't find Harry! He's not with you, is he?"

"No," came Ron's reply, quickly followed by Ron, himself with a worried look equal to Hermione's. "Where is he?"

The mounting panic was evident in Hermione's reply, "I don't know. When I came back down with the jumpers... he was gone. I thought he went ahead of me outside." As she spoke, Hermione hurriedly returned to the back door, pulling it open as she yelled, "Harry! Where are you, Harry?"

Ron joined in the calling and the went in opposite directions around the Burrow's perimeter. They met on the other side, but with no Harry in sight, real fear had set in.

Hermione stopped yelling and tried to slow her breathing. "Okay, let's _think_ a minute." She pulled her wand out of her sleeve and cast, "_Accio a button from the shirt Harry Potter is wearing!_" She and Ron held their collective breath and waited. Nothing happened.

"He must be too far. Let's spread out and try again." They again travelled in opposite directions, ending up back on the other side.

"Dad's shed!" cried Ron, and the two made a dash for it.

~o~

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Minister," Percy moved back from the grate to allow Rufus Scrimgeour space to enter. Percy felt a pang of shame at the shabbiness of the room, but did his best to hide it. "I realise you are a terribly busy man, and my parents' home is not exactly up to the standards of one in your position, but as I know of your interest in Harry Potter, I thought you might like to know he is staying here."

"Yes, yes. 'Priciate it Weazleby, er Weasley." Stating the obvious was a common trait of apple polishers like Weasley. The need to boast their own 'deeds' was increased by the fact that no one else wanted to do it for them – mostly because there was nothing actually boast-worthy to begin with. But the Minister for Magic would suffer this fool gladly if it got him Harry Potter. A Harry Potter whose court-appointed guardian was decidedly absent.

The Minister clapped his hands together loudly, startling Percy, and rubbed them together vigorously, as though preparing to devour a feast. "Well, where _is_ our Boy Who Lived?"

At Minister Scrimgeour's toothy grin, Percy was reminded of why the Ministry clerks referred to the man as "Minister Leo" behind his back. And as that grin shifted to a grimace of impatience, Percy was reminded of the fact that he'd best take Scrimgeour to Harry post haste, before he pissed away his best chance at gaining the Minister's favour.

"Of course, Minister. He's just this w-" Percy stopped mid sentence, for as soon as he had opened the door they could hear screaming.

~o~ ~o~ ~o~

**A/N: **Sorry so long in coming. I got a couple of reviews and felt inspired... (hint, hint) ;P


	25. Confund It!

**Regarding Harry**

**By Tsuj**

**Disclaimer**: Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit from this story.

**Summary**: Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old. Ever so slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**Chapter 25: Confund It!**

As Ron reached for the door knob, Hermione stayed his hand.

"Wait. Uh, Ron, I don't think we should go into your dad's private workspace."

"Huh? Well, then... why'd you want to go in there in the first place?"

"Well, I, I... I don't know."

"You don't –? Hang on. Hold still a sec." Ron pulled out his wand and pointed it at Hermione.

"What are you doing, Ron?" Hermione pulled her own wand from her sleeve and assumed a defensive position.

"No, it's okay, 'Mione. I think we've been confunded. _Finite Incantatum_!"

"Why ever would you think that?"

"Huh. When you said, 'I don't know', I knew _something_ was wrong."

"I don't feel any different." She thought a moment and then cast on Ron, "_Finite!_" prompting, "Well?"

Ron's eyes widened. "Harry!"

"What about Harry? And Ronald, I really think we should go now. Your dad –"

"_Finite!_" Ron waved his wand at Hermione as he cast the more encompassing version of the cancellation spell.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, "His accidental magic must have confunded us. He doesn't want to be found."

As one, they cast an _Alohomora_ so powerful it knocked the shed door to pieces, which fell into Mr Weasley's workshop. Ron launched himself over the splintered wood, with Hermione close on his heels, both calling for their lost friend.

~o~

Harry froze when he heard the door crash open. He had to get away. He had to finish getting all the bad blood out no matter what. He could not let his friends get sent to the bad place. He felt a breeze to his left and saw that a Harry-sized hole had appeared in the wall beside him. He made it out of the opening just as he heard Ron and Hermione calling him. Harry looked back when their voices muffled, to see only the solid back wall of Mr Weasley's shed. The hole was gone! Harry did not waste one moment more, but made for the grove behind the Burrow. He knew Ron and Hermione would be angry at him for not minding them, but once he had rid himself of the bad blood and was sure that his friends were safe, he could come out of hiding and accept whatever punishment he was given for disobeying.

~o~

Hermione and Ron's voices rose in desperation, as they searched behind, in and under every box, shelf and table laden with Mr Weasley's collection of Muggle detritus. But they found no sign of Harry.

"Harreeeeee! Where _are_ you?" Hermione had been convinced they were going to find him in the workshop. Why else would they have been confunded? She could tell by Ron's frantic yelling that he'd thought so too. Hermione feared the worst. _How could you have left him alone, Hermione_, she berated herself silently. _If anything happens to Harry, it will be your fault! _She knew they needed help searching, but certainly not from Percy. Ginny was in Hogsmeade, meeting up with Katie Bell and some other members of the Griffindor quidditch team to strategize for the coming season. Hermione was mustering the will to send her otter Patronus to them all, when she spied Percy coming out of the Burrow, accompanied by Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister for Magic.

"Haaaaar-" Ron stopped mid yell when he too, saw his brother, now trailing the Minister for Magic, coming towards them.

"Hallo, children," Scrimgeour's voice was laden with condescension. "It would appear that you have lost... someone? True?"

Before either Hermione or Ron could answer, the Minister spread his arms wide and cast, "_Accio Harry Potter!_"

"No!" cried Hermione. She feared what obstacles might cause Harry injury as the magic propelled him speedily to the Minister. That was the reason she had tried to Accio one of Harry's shirt buttons: to determine his location and avoid the inherent danger in summoning a living being.

Minister Scrimgeour, however, seemed wholly unconcerned at the risk of his spell for Harry. Regardless, and on the Minister's part, it really was 'regardless', they heard Harry caterwauling a moment before he flew into view and into the waiting arms of the Minister.

The relief at Harry's return and the worry at the method by which it had been done had barely registered, when the Minister wrapped his meaty arms tightly around a wild eyed and struggling Harry.

"Gerrof him!" shouted Ron, as Hermione demanded,

"Let him go! You're scaring him!"

"He _should_ be scared of the poor care he is receiving at the hands of Nurse Pomfrey. This boy is a mess."

Harry did, indeed look wretched. His face was dirty, his palms were a mix of scraped skin, blood and dirt, his clothing was torn and bloodied what's more, he was incoherently screaming and struggling to escape the Minister's grip.

"And where _is_ his guardian? I daresay the Ministry of Magic's Child Welfare Division will have something to say about this. I am taking charge of Mr Potter, now," grunted the Minister over Harry's wails.

"You can't _do_ that!" implored Hermione. "Can't you see your making this worse?"

Ron pointed his wand at the Minister, but dared not use a spell for fear he would harm Harry. He and the Minister both knew it, and Scrimgeour stared him down until Ron reluctantly lowered his wand. Ron stood there dumbly, powerless to help his friend.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, _children_. I most certainly _can_ do this, and I mean to remedy this unfortunate situation, before it gets any further out of , this boy needs to see a Healer." And before either of them could say a word, Rufus Scrimgeour, a struggling Harry held tightly in his arms, spun on his heel and Disapparated.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other and said in unison, "St. Mungo's." They Apparated after the Minister, without giving a thought to Percy, who stood shocked in the wake of their departure.

Percy Weasley was not a cruel person. Selfish, yes. Absolutely and to a fault. But he never intended Harry harm, and having just witnessed Harry's rough treatment at the hands of the Minister, he was shaken to his very core. A moment later, when Ron and Hermione Apparated back, he nearly jumped out of his skin – which would have saved Ron the trouble of removing it, inch by inch (if only Hermione would let him). Percy stood frozen, that is until Ron launched himself at his older brother.

Rufus Scrimgeour had not, in fact, taken Harry to St. Mungo's. Hermione and Ron were informed by a mediwizard that the Minister was't there, and would have little reason to be, as he had his own, personal, Ministry Healers. Hermione reckoned they were taking care of Harry at the Minister's residence.

"This is all _your_ fault!" Ron knocked Percy down and stood over him, fists clenched white in the air.

"_My_ fault? I'm not the one who lost him!" Percy wisely stayed down. He may have been older, but Ron had a good two stone over him. And if Ron's whitened knuckles were anything to go by (and Percy knew they very much were), his little brother was itching to pummel him.

"Leave him, Ron," Hermione tugged at his arm, trying to push down her own accountability and focus on Harry. "He's not worth our time. We have to find Professor McGonagall. We have to get Harry back!"

Ron was shaking with barely contained rage. "You. Are. Not. My. Brother." he ground out, and with great effort, turned away. "Hogsmead," was all he said to Hermione, and he Apparated with a 'pop'.

Hermione just shook her head at Percy and Apparated away, as well, leaving the young man to wonder what, exactly, had he just participated in.

~o~

_Dark! _ And _tight!_ _Too tight_, Harry felt as if all the air was being squeezed from his body. Then, there was a burst of sound and air, and Harry realized he _was_ being squeezed. A strange man with a big metal necklace, which was pressing into Harry's face, held him practically immobile. When he tried to move away, the arms crushed around him more tightly. Harry gasped for breath. It _hurt_. At last, the man released him, only to grab him by the shoulders and shake him so hard his teeth clacked together and his head snapped back painfully.

"Time to behave, Mr Potter," the man said in a gravelly voice, adding, "You are safe now," as an afterthought.

Harry felt anything but safe. However, he was badly rattled by the shake and so he stilled, trying to catch his breath.

"That's better, Mr Potter. Now let's sit down and have tea, like civilized wizards." The man gestured towards two wingback chairs beside a softly crackling fireplace.

As Harry turned to look, an extremely wrinkled house elf appeared with a small tray for tea. Harry was scared, but he was also angry. He did not like this man, who seemed familiar and dangerous, but he couldn't quite remember where he had seen him before. Harry made no move to sit, and the man growled.

"Mr Potter, have a seat," Said Scrimgeour, barely holding in his temper.

Harry said softly, but with determination, "No fank you."

Scrimgeour clamped a large had around Harry's upper arm and steered him forcefully to the closer chair. "I insist," he commanded, and yanked Harry's arm so that the boy fell into the chair with a yelp. Scrimgeour then silently cast a sticking charm and said aloud, "There, now isn't that better? Now we can just be two gentleman wizards, having a friendly chat. Tea?" He gestured the house elf to serve them, and ignored Harrys pitiful attempts to wriggle out of the chair. "Now then, Harry," the Minister chose an iced biscuit and dipped it with surprising grace into his teacup. "Why did you run away? They are not treating you very well, are they?"

Harry said nothing, but kept testing the chair to see if it would release him – to no avail.

"That is why I brought you here to my home. I am going to be taking care of you from now on. I have sent for my own personal mediwizard to come and heal you; your hands are quite raw."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. He had to get out of there before the Healer got to him. He was afraid to go home, when he was still so full of bad blood, but he was more afraid of Rufus Scrimgeour. "_No_, my gotsa go back. Pomfee am comin' home soon, an' my needs a' get all da bu- my needs a' _go_." He again tried to get up from the chair, but his efforts were futile.

The minister rolled his eyes at the boy's lack of diction. "She '_is_ coming home' and '_I _need to be there,'" he corrected.

This only confused Harry. "Why _you_ got's a' be dere? Dat not your home. Dat am _my_ home. Mine an' Pomfee's!"

"_'Have_ to be there' – Potter, I am simply correcting your infantile speech. Didn't your Madam Pomfrey teach you how to speak properly?" This was, Scrimgeour knew,to be the first of many moments when he would be reminded of why he'd never had children. He loathed the little wretches, and definitely would have the house elves take charge of the boy, once all was settled with the Child Welfare court.

~o~

"Minister, you must understand. The boy may appear to have reached the age of majority, but his mental capacity is that of a five or six year old child. Healer Elba had the misfortune of being the previous Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge's personal Healer. With the arrival of Rufus Scrimgeour, Elba thought his luck had changed. But in light of this Minister's blind ambition (an unsurprisingly common trait among Ministers for Magic, Elba was discovering) Healer Elba was rethinking his good fortune. Yes, the position came with several perks, including complete access to all research and all staff and patient records (which was how he had learned the depth of Harry Potter's condition), but Elba was beginning to have serious doubts as to whether the prestige was worth it.

The Minister cut in to the Healer's train of thought, "Healer Elba, I don't think you are grasping the severity of the situation. You saw the condition he was in. The Potter boy cannot be sent back, but to keep him, I must show him to have progressed under my care. The gibberish he is spewing is not going to help my cause.

"You don't have any children, Minister, do you?"

"Not a one. Potter will be my first – and most definitely my last."

"Then respectfully, sir" Elba began with some trepidation, "Lowered expectations are in order here. I am not an expert in the field of young wizards and witches, but I believe the changes you are looking for follow a natural progression and take _time_."

Scrimgeour was unaccustomed to being spoken to with such candor. He was, however, a practical man and took Elba at his word. "Fine then, " he acquiesced. "Go and clean him up, and figure out in which areas we _can_ improve the make arrangement with the house elf for suitable quarters, won't you?" Without waiting for a reply, the Minister turned away and left the room.

Before Healer Elba had time to react, and to say he was a Healer, not a child minder, he was startled half out of his robes by the sudden appearance of a wizened house elf.

"Scully is at the Healer's service" he said in a crackly voice and bowing so low, the tip of his nose came in contact with the floor.

"Oh. Well. Good, then" Elba cleared his throat nervously. "We will need to equip an oversized nursery. Mr Potter will require a bed, low to the ground, fresh clothing, including nightshirts and a dressing gown." He gestured to Harry who sat in a wingback chair by the fire, looking forlorn. The elf disappeared with a somehow wizened-sounding 'pop', and Elba approached The Boy Who Lived. When Harry refused to hold out his hands for inspection, Elba closed his eyes a moment, to prepare himself for what he was about to do. He called for Scully, and instructed him to place Harry's arms – palms facing up – on each armrest, while the Healer applied sticking charms.

Now that Harry was anchored to the chair in three places, he could barely move. He pulled all the more, but could only bring his upper torso slightly forwards. He was panting with the effort

The Healer, himself, looked pained. "I'm so sorry, Mr Potter, but needs must. It'll be over in a flash, and your hands won't hurt anymore." Elba gently spread a fast-acting salve to each of Harry's palms, and the young man, boy really, whimpered softly through the Healer's ministrations. Elba knew the boy was not in pain, the salve contained a highly effective numbing agent, and this made Harry's reaction even more pitiable. Elba tried to comfort Harry while the salve was working. "There, there, almost done, now." Elba felt his scant words of comfort to be equally pitiable. In a few minutes time, the salve had done its job, and Harry's palms were clear of abrasions."All done! _Finite Incantatum_."

As soon as the charms were lifted, Harry curled into a foetal position, taking deep breaths and regaining some composure. "Pease, sir, my go back now? My not wanna stay wif da Lion Man."

Elba shook his head sadly, and where The Boy Who Lived had looked despondent before, he now appeared devastated. Healer Elba could not fault the boy for being afraid of the Minister. He was an intimidating presence even when he wasn't making the classic, 'Don't judge a scroll by its ribbon' mistake. Yes, Harry Potter looked like a normal seventeen year old, but he was really just a child. And the Minister's misplaced expectations and gruff manner surely did not engender a sense of trust or safety in Harry. Scrimgeour's behaviour was baffling, given that a generalization of Potter's condition had been reported ad nauseum in _The Prophet_, and that the man had first hand experience with Potter at the custody hearings.

For all the prestige his position as Healer to the Minister for Magic afforded him, Elba was essentially a fairly benign cog in the political wheel of wizarddom.

~o~ ~o~ ~o~

**A/N:** I feel kind of funny ending this chapter with a potentially grammatical gaff (and, by the way, I had to look up how to spell 'grammatical'). I've had to teach all my writing programs to learn the word, "wizarding," and there's nowhere I can think of to check "wizarddom." Thoughts?

Also, I am back on line with this fic and plan on posting every two weeks.


	26. Anger And Pain

**Regarding Harry**

**By Tsuj**

**Disclaimer**: Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit from this story.

**Summary**: Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old. Ever so slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M

**A/N:** Apologies for lack of beta...

**Chapter 26: Anger And Pain**

To say that Ginny Weasley was angry, would be akin to saying water is a wee bit wet. And try as she might – though in truth, she did not try very hard (because she _was_ so angry) – she could not help blaming Hermione. Hermione herself was only dimly aware of that fact, so mired was she in her own misery; she blamed herself as well.

They sat, along with Ron, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Professor McGonagall and a stooped over Hagrid at the Weasley Kitchen table. Percy stood in the doorway, giving Ginny and Ron a wide berth.

"Arthur, I think the time for following proper channels has long passed." Molly Weasley looked sadly at her husband, who had suggested lodging a complaint with the MLE and asking the Aurors to help retrieve Harry. As creative a thinker he was when it came to his wild collection of Muggle artifacts, he tended to be more rule-bound where the Ministry was concerned. She supposed working there all those years had done that to him, just as it had affected Percy.

"Here, here," agreed McGonagall. "We need to get that boy back, _now_."

"But how're we gon' ter do tha', Professor?" Hagrid was twisting and wringing a large polkadot hanky.

"Erm," Percy nervously cleared his throat.

"What do _you_ want, _troll_?" spat Ron.

"What about a Portkey?"

"Oh, that's just brilliant, Perce. Why didn't we think of that?"

"Now, Ginny, Percy is only trying to help." Molly covered her daughter's hand with her own and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"No, Mum! I'm sorry, but he's 'helped' enough."

"Why is he even _here_?" Ron groused.

"Look, I know I made a mistake –" Percy began.

"A mistake!" shrieked Ginny, "Leaving the lid off the floo powder is a mistake. You bolluxed up Harry's _life_!"

"I know. I'm so, so sorry," Percy looked to his parents. "I think I can help. I _want_ to help."

Molly held up her hand to forestal her youngest two's imminent protest, "Shush, children. I want to

hear what Percy has to say.

"Oh, Mum, _please_. It doesn't matter what he has to say – you can't trust him!"

"Ginevra, that is quite enough," rebuked her mother. She noted that both Ron and Ginny were each turning the beet red of an enraged Weasley, but a meaningful look kept them quite.

"I could try to see Harry. The Minister, well, he, erm –"

Ron wasn't able to stay silent for very long, "What? He owes you a favour? Because you helped him kidnap Harry?"

Hermione spoke for the first time since the impromptu meeting began, "I know you don't want to hear it, but Ron, Percy might be our best chance. If he could get close to Harry and Portkey with him back here –"

"What's to stop him from spilling our plans to the Minister and having us all arrested?"

"Ron!" his father sounded scandalized.

"Dad, Mum, you're just not seeing how it is. Percy's a lying, arse-kissin –"

Molly slammed her teacup down, sloshing some of the steaming liquid over her hand. She ignored it."That is enough, young lady!"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat politely, "I don't mean to intrude on a family... discussion, but I feel it prudent to refocus our energies on getting Harry back."

Hagrid nodded in uncomfortable agreement, and it was Mrs Weasley's turn to blush.

"Quite right, Minerva," offered Mr Weasley by way of apology. Turning to Percy, he asked solemnly, "Percy, how _would_ you get Minister Scrimgeour to invite you into his private residence?"

"Well, uh. I hadn't thought that far ahead yet."

Before either Ron or Ginny could have another go at Percy, Hermione shared an idea, "You could offer to bring Harry's things to him."

"It's a good thought, Ms Granger, but I don't know that Scrimgeour would concern himself enough about Harry's comfort to allow that."

Hermione looked chagrined, despite the Headmistress' gentle tone. She added, "Maybe if Percy offered to help take care of Harry...?" she trailed off, underwhelmed by her own idea and wishing she'd not said it aloud.

"Possibly," Professor McGonagall continued, "I'll wager he might be willing to see Percy if the lad agreed to give testimony against us."

"How do we know he won't turn around and do exactly that?" Ron's tone was a tad more respectful towards his Professor than it had been towards his parents, but none the less, it was clear he was seething.

"I wouldn't," promised Percy. "I swear it."

"I think the Headmistress is right. Minister Scrimgeour would jump at the chance to have a corroborating witness who could sway the court towards appointing him Harry's new guardian." Warming to the plan, Hermione added, "You could tell him you know what to ask Harry to show he would be better off with the Minister."

"No, Hermione. Don't you understand? All of you," Ron's gesture encompassed everyone present, "You know Percy would do anything to move up in the Ministry."

Percy, himself, was the first to respond, "Uh, I'd like to say something."

"And I'd like you to jump. Off. A broom," Ginny ground out in a low voice. She still got a sharp look from her mother.

"What I wanted to say was, Ron's right. At least, you were," he said to his little brother. "I was ambitious to the point of being wrongheaded and selfish. But when I saw – I mean, what Minister Scrimgeour did to Harry was unconscionable. And I've no right to expect you to believe me, but I really do want to help get Harry back."

"I _don't_ believe you," growled Ron.

"Neither do I ," Ginny added.

"Enough, children!" Again, Mrs Weasley's teacup hit the table, this time with enough force to break it.

Mr Weasley cast a softly worded, "_Reparo_," and the cup reassembled itself. Molly smiled appreciatively at her husband and cast a cleaning charm on the spilt tea. Arthur turned to his son, "We've not a lot of options. Percy, we're counting on you. Can you do this?

"But Dad-"

"Dad, No!"

Quiet, you two. Your mother said 'Enough', and she meant it."

Arthur Weasley sighed inwardly. He'd had such hopes for Percy, but his son's ambitions and the way he went about achieving his goals had left Mr Weasley sad and disappointed. He so wanted Percy to make amends, but he was concerned that his desire might be clouding his judgement. In the end, Percy was a Weasley after all, and it was decided that they would go ahead with the plan.

~o~

Harry sat in a bed that wasn't his bed in a room that wasn't his room. Now that he had had time to calm down and think, he realized that if he stayed in this strange place, all his friends were safe from him accidentally talking about the secret magic. It would, Harry felt, be easier to not talk at all around strangers. That way, no one would be in danger of getting sent to the bad place that Lilly had told him about. And he would work very hard while he was away from home to get out all the bad blood that was – he now knew – running through his whole body. As he got up from the unfamiliar bed and began to look for something to scrape open his skin with, he wondered why Lilly hadn't known about that – since she knew so much about secret magic. There was not much to choose from. A small dresser yielded only clothes. Harry couldn't get the drawers to come all the way out and the drawer pulls were smooth wooden knobs. And that was it. Aside from the bed and what looked like a chamber pot, there was nothing else in the small room. Dejected, Harry slumped to the floor, leaning his shoulder and head against the useless dresser.

He absently rubbed his finger on one of the dresser knobs. Its smoothness reminded Harry of his Draco sleeve and he wished he had that with him, now. As he tried to think of what to do next, the knob turned under Harry's finger. Surprised, he tried twisting it some more and it became loose. Harry got up on his knees, balancing himself against the dresser with one hand and twisting and pulling the knob with the other. It came off! Elated, Harry examined the back of the knob closely. _No!_ It was as smooth on the flat back as it was on the rounded front, and the edge wasn't in the least bit sharp.

Harry slid to the ground in utter defeat, allowing his hand to trail down the face of the dresser. Something sharp caught on him, and Harry reflexively drew his hand to his mouth. His fingers were salty. Almost afraid to look, Harry slowly pulled his fingers out of his mouth and held them up for inspection. They stung, and there was a pink scratch across two of his fingers. He got back up on his knees to look at the spot where the drawer pull had been. There was a pointy metal stick with what looked like tiny stripes poking out. Harry placed his hand back against the drawer front just above the stick. then he pressed as hard a s he could against the wood and slid his hand down over it. He cried out at the pain and pulled his hand away. Then he stilled. This was what he needed to do, but he was afraid of the pain. Never the less, Harry mustered his courage and dragged his hand down over the stick again and again.

He was crying softly at the pain, but Harry reminded himself that it meant blood was coming out. He wondered, with the sharp stick being so little, how long it would take to get all his bad blood out. And how long was he to stay in this room? He felt an urgency then, and redoubled his efforts, pressing and scraping his fingers, palm, wrist and the back of his hand and he even pushed up his sleeve to scrape his forearm over the metal again and again. His eyes closed tight and teeth clenched against crying aloud. He was so completely focussed on his task, he did not hear the door click open.

"What the – ? STOP!"

Harry yelped in surprise and fell on his backside. _No!_ It was the Healer from before. Harry scrambled to his feet and hid his bloodied arm behind his back.

"Mr Potter! What are you doing?"

"Nu-nuffing."

Healer Elba narrowed his eyes. "Show me your hand," he demanded.

Harry knew he was supposed to mind his elders, but he just couldn't this time. So he shook his head and pressed his lips together, despairing that he was getting more bad by the moment.

One look at Harry and Elba knew he was in unfamiliar territory. This boy needed a Mind Healer. "Scully," he called out and the house elf cracked into existence just behind the Healer, startling both him and Harry.

"Scully is at the Healer's service," the little creature croaked.

"Tell your master he is needed here at once."

"Scully will," and he disappeared as loudly and as quickly as he had arrived.

"Come here, Mr Potter," ordered the Healer. But Harry just shook his head again and sucked on his lower lip. Before Elba had the chance to do or say anything else, he heard the roar of one very irate sounding Rufus Scrimgeour.

"This had better be important, Elba."

The Healer winced at the Minister's deliberate omission of his title. "Yes, Minister. It is," he gestured to Harry as Scrimgeour entered the room.

"What is the meaning of this? What is Potter hiding?"

"Minister Scrimgeour, Mr Potter is attempting to undo the Healing I've done on his hands.

"Merlin's teeth, man! Why would he do that?"

"That is precisely the problem," Elba had regained some of his equilibrium, and was able to make good use of his training and experience. "The boy needs a Mind Healer. I am, in no uncertain terms, unqualified to help Mr Potter. You must take him to St. Mungo's." Elba held his breath unconsciously, waiting for Scrimgeour's explosive temper to erupt, but surprisingly, it did not.

In fact, a crooked and slightly unnerving smile stole across his face, and he practically purred, "All the more reason that Hogwarts Nurse will be deemed unfit as Potter's guardian. Very well. Take him, I will be along shortly – and see to it he gets a private and secure room, Healer."

Harry wasn't exactly sure what the two wizards had been talking about, other than that they meant to take him to St. Mungo's. "Dat where Pomfee is?" he asked the men. "My wan' stay here, pease." Harry couldn't risk being near his beloved caregiver yet.

Scrimgeour's smile grew and he arched an eyebrow. "Excellent! And you, Healer Elba, are now a Penseivable witness. He'd rather stay with me than return to the poor care of Madam Pomfrey. Just splendid!" he clapped his hands together, quite satisfied with this turn of events. "Take him, now," he charged Elba, and almost as an afterthought, he addressed Harry, "Don't worry, Mr Potter. You're to have zero contact with Madam Pomfrey. I've already started the scrollwork for an injunction against her." With that, Rufus Scrimgeour left Elba and a bewildered Harry to proceed to the wizard's hospital.

"Come along, Mr Potter. You heard the Minister."

Harry shook his head again. "Pease, sir, you go a' Mungo's, my stay in dis room."

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter. Please cooperate, or you will force my hand."

Harry looked quizzically at the Healer's hand, but made no move to join him.

Elba shook his head sadly and let out a great sigh, before drawing out his wand. "Very well, Mr Potter. _Mobilus Corpus_," he chanted, aiming his wand at Harry. This caused Harry to levitate and bob slowly forward s ahead of the Healer out the door.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise an delight. He was so enjoying his flight, he forgot about their destination, until they reached a large, ornate fireplace. Harry tried to backpedal and looked for something to grab onto to stop his progress towards the hearthside.

Scully appeared holding a gold filigreed jar with an emerald encrusted top. He lifted the lid and held the jar up for Healer Elba. Elba pulled Harry close and wrapped an arm around his waist. With his other hand, he grabbed a large fistful of floo powder and threw it into the grate, shouting, "St. Mungos, 4th floor!" The flames turned bright green, a colour that unnerved Harry as he was pulled into the spinning floo network.

~o~ ~o~ ~o~


	27. Close Calls

**Chapter 27: Close Calls **

Healer Elba let the door to Harry Potter's hospital room swing shut. He leaned against the door jamb, closing his eyes and letting out a weary sigh.

"Position isn't everything?"

Elba jumped at the sardonic voice and his eyes flew open. Then they narrowed as his cheeks turned red. Healer Perseus Vanes stood before him, arms akimbo with an expression of great boredom and disdain plastered across his face.

"I suppose you wouldn't be one to know, Healer Vanes," was Elba's curt retort, and he was infuriated when Vanes' only response was to raise an eyebrow, while somehow maintaining a mien of indifference. _Insufferable son of a... _Aloud Elba said, "I'll leave you to it, then," and promptly left. He was perfectly willing to be done with the whole Harry Potter fiasco, which had left him seriously questioning how much longer he would be able to remain in the Minister's employ.

Severus Snape did not suffer fools – gladly or otherwise – thus he did not mourn the departure of Rufus Scrimgeour's personal Healer. Snape had no use for the entitled titled, and didn't give the wizard another thought.

He entered Harry's room in the persona of Healer Vanes, but a part of his Snape-ish self lingered, wondering at the trouble this boy always managed to get into. Vanes raised his wand to the small cluster of dimly lit globes on the ceiling and they brightened. He saw that Harry was awake, and looking rather wretchedly at his right arm, the hand and forearm of which were encased in bandages. The Healer next lifted the full body sticking charm, and as soon as Harry felt himself released, he he curled up on his side, facing the wall.

"It's good to see you again, Harry, though I would have preferred that the circumstances were different." Harry made no acknowledgement that he had spoken, so the Healer continued. "If you like, I could arrange for Draco to visit you later."

At that, Harry looked back over his shoulder and Vanes watched as the boy's face went briefly to hopeful, before returning to misery. And seeing that, Healer Vanes made the decision to wait no more. This young man needed help _now_. And if that meant using invasive tactics, so be it.

"Harry," he said, "I want you to look at me." The words were spoken softly, but were none the less a command, one with which Harry complied. The Healer's next word was barely a whisper, but again, held no less authority. "_Legillimens_."

Harry stared, transfixed by Vanes' eyes. Unbidden, images began to form in his head, and somehow, Harry was certain, the Healer could see them too. They were something like his dreams, only these were things he knew had already happened.

_In a strange bedroom, scratching his skin raw on the dresser knob screw_

_At the Weasley quidditch pitch, rubbing his stinging palms on the gravelly ground_

_In his Nursery, pushing his head bandage up and scratching open his scar_

_In his bed, waking to see a dark-haired woman standing over him, her face coming into focus – _

"No!" cried Harry.

~o~

Draco sat at the edge of a visitors chair in the waiting lounge outside the office of 'Healer Vanes'. He was clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to stave off another fade out. Severus had told Draco to focus on a specific physical action as soon as he felt one coming strategy was working! The room came back into focus. He could feel the seat beneath him and sense his feet on the carpet. It seemed to Draco both a small and large accomplishment and he smiled inwardly.

He knew Severus was with Harry, who had suffered another setback (which no one saw fit to tell Draco any more about). He was often invited to join them , so Draco decided it was alright for him to interrupt. He wanted to share his success with his godfather. Besides, he reasoned, seeing him always cheered Harry up. Satisfied with his rationalization, Draco approached Severus' – Vanes' office. He knocked once, and hearing no answer, tried the door. It opened, so Draco knew Severus was not in private session with Harry. But what he saw next extinguished his cheery mood in an instant. Severus was flat on his back with Harry crying beside him on the floor.

"Pease, no go to da bad place. Pease..."

When Harry saw Draco, he drew in a few shuddering breaths. "Mmm'sssorry, Piddy B-b-boy." He shook his head and cried, "I not w-w-wanna hurt hims."

Before Draco had a chance to say or do anything, Nurse Harcourt came in through the still open door. One look at the scene before him was all it took.

"What have you done now, boyo?!" The Nurse seized Draco by the arm and dragged him away from Harry, who just cried more loudly. Harcourt shot an amber coloured bird out of his wand and down the hall to call for assistance.

To his shame, Draco's innate sense of self preservation kicked into action. "I didn't do anything! I just found them like this!"

"Sure y'did. Look, you little son of a Death Eater, you don't fool me for one second. Once a DE, always a DE."

"Let go of me, damn it! They need help!" Draco tried to pull away from the Nurse, who squeezed his arm fiercely.

Just then, a quartet of staff members entered. The first two rushed to see to Harry and the next worked on assessing Healer Vanes.

Everything was happening so quickly, Draco was lifted off his feet – Harcourt held him around his chest, pinning his arms painfully by his sides. The Nurse carried a kicking and cursing Draco out of the room. But before he was taken away, Draco saw Harry being levitated onto a stretcher and Severus beginning to stir.

"Let me _go_!" Draco strained against Harcourt, but the burly Nurse's arms held strong.

"Settle down, boyo. You're disturbing other patients."

"I need to see ...Healer Vanes. I need to see if he's o –"

"What you _need_ is to quiet down. I warned you, boyo." Nurse Harcourt took one arm away to get his wand out, pressing Draco against the wall to hold him in place. With undue relish, Harcourt raised his wand to Draco's face.

Draco's eyes widened in terror and then, closed slowly , as the Nurse harshly cast, "_Somnolus_."

~o~

Severus had the distinctly unwelcome feeling of disorientation. As he came to fully, he found two people leaning over him. A young Mediwizard was whispering to a senior Mediwitch who was checking Severus' vital signs, "... why he would have trusted a Malfoy. I just don't understand it."

The Mediwitch replied harshly, "Some people never learn. Doesn't matter if they're eight, eighteen or eighty. A Malfoy's a Malfoy. The lot of them should be locked away for good."

Severus felt a sense of doom; something _very_ bad must have happened with Draco. The last thing he remembered was using Legillimency on Harry. But, strangely, Severus was unable to recall having seen anything. As he had complete faith in his abilities, this made no sense. Could Harry have thrown him out of his mind. Occlumency hadn't exactly been one of his strong points _before_ his regression. Accidental magic was a plausible explanation. And perhaps Severus had been Obliviated, as well. There was no one, aside from Draco, whom he trusted enough to test him for Obliviation, and he would have to train Draco first in how to do that.

_Definitely disoriented, then._ These wandering thoughts could wait. Severus had to see to Draco and Harry.

Where, er," apparently, his power of speech had not yet fully revived.

"Lie still, Healer Vanes," the Mediwitch ordered. "I'm not done diagnosing you."

Severus mustered his considerable will power and spoke again. "S-stop. Diagnosing. Me. And tell me what's happened to- to Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy."

"After that Malfoy wretch attacked you and Mr Potter, he was put under a strong sleeping charm and placed in a locked ward –."

The Mediwitch's hostility towards Draco was palpable. Severus noted her pale skin and pointed features. A distant relative perhaps trying to remain distant, he wondered.

"I can assure you that Draco has done no such thing." He pushed himself up to a sitting position, aches in all his joints and muscles. He was angry at himself for the grunt he let escape.

The Mediwitch continued, "Mr Potter is back in his old room. He sustained only minor abrasions and was suffering from acute hysteria. He was also administered a sleeping charm."

Despite the dignity it cost him, Severus reached his hand out to the Mediwizard for support in getting up. The young man obliged, and his copper toned skin flushed when the Mediwitch glared at him. She next directed her glare at Severus.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I'll see to Mr Potter first. I no longer require your services, madam."

"There's no point, you know. He'll be asleep for hours yet." Her animosity towards Draco was quick to encompass Vanes, whom she was perceiving to be a Malfoy sympathizer.

Severus bristled. He had no patience for her attitude or for Healers who over used charms.

"Very Well. Then tell me precisely where I might find Draco Malfoy."

The Mediwitch simply folded her arms and looked away.

The Mediwizard stammered, "He's been put in a room in the Dangerous Dai Llewellyn ward, to keep him isolated until the Aurors are summoned."

Severus felt his strength returning in equal measure to his growing dread, and he strode out with a nod of thanks to the Mediwizard.

~o~

There was a small writing desk beside the door to Draco's room. In it, sat the muscular Nurse Draco had claimed "had it in for him." Severus should have listened more carefully to what his godson had been saying, rather than writing it off as youthful whinging.

Harcourt was scribbling with a never-out quill, filling out some scroll forms.

"I'll take over from here, Nurse Harcourt," Severus' tone brooked no argument, yet argue the Nurse did.

"I don't think so, Healer. This time, Malfoy has gone too far. I'm filling out the paperwork right now to request an Auror intervention."

Checking to be sure they were alone in the corridor, Severus pulled out his wand. "_Confundous_," he cast evenly, teeth clenched. Harcourt's eyes turned glassy as Severus took the scroll from him. "Thank you, Nurse Harcourt. That will be all."

"What?" asked Harcourt, dully.

"You are relived, Nurse. I will take over this case."

"Oh. Yes." Harcourt slowly got up, brows furrowing, and he wandered off down the hall.

Severus used _Alohomora _to open the door, and found Draco was indeed asleep. He was sprawled across a cot as though tossed there like an unwanted rag doll.

As gently as he could, Severus cast "_Enervate_," and Draco stirred, groaning. As he came to, he pushed himself up and gasped, grabbing his left arm. A quick diagnostic spell revealed Draco's arm was badly bruised and his wrist was sprained – no doubt, curtesy of Nurse Harcourt's 'care'. Severus was beginning to wish he'd used something a great deal stronger than _Confundus_ on the man.

"S-Severus?" Draco asked groggily.

"_Healer_. _Vanes_. You are hallucinating, young man." Snape barely restrained his tone.

When he realized what he'd just done, Draco's eyes widened in horror. It was enough to bring him back to full alertness. "Healer, I – yes, I – I was dreaming, I suppose." He looked around and saw that they appeared to be alone, but Draco knew better than to put stock in appearances. He silently berated himself, for he also knew better than to call his godfather by name anywhere other than in his fully warded office. Being groggy was no excuse. There _was_ no excuse for such carelessness.

"If you are feeling up to it, perhaps you would like to accompany me to see how Mr Potter is doing?"

"Yes, sir." Draco swallowed, nervously.

"And tell me what you remember happening today."

As they walked to the lift, Draco told his godfather all he had seen – which had not been very much.

Entering Harry's room, They found Healer Rose Chang sitting by his cot, examining his chart. She had not been expecting anyone, and started when the door swung open.

"Mr Potter's not receiving visi – oh. Healer Vanes."

"Healer Chang," Severus nodded in greeting and held his hand out for the chart. "May I?"

"Cairtanly. Are y'alright?" She passed him the chart, and then scowled upon seeing Draco.

"Quite."

"What's he doin' hayre?"

Severus ignored the accusatory tone, saying flatly, "I will take charge of Harry –"

"You've been Obliviaited! ...Or, sommat." Her eyes went back to Draco, who was busying himself by intently studying his shoes.

"What makes you say that, Healer Chang?" It was unfortunate that he had run into a Sensing Healer. But at least her reaction lent merit to his theory.

Sommat's not right abou' it."

"Close the door, Draco."

Chang drew her wand defensively. "I haird this boy attacked you an' Harry. What's goin' on hayre?"

"Certainly not what you think," said Snape, eying her wand and her stance. He exhorted his godson, "Draco, the door." To Chang he said, "You've nothing to fear, Healer Chang. There has been a gross misunderstanding of events. It was not Draco, but Harry – or rather his accidental magic, that was the cause of the so-called 'attack'."

Healer Chang lowered her wand marginally, and she continue to listen to the explanation.

"I attempted to Legillimize Harry, and I was – quite literally – thrown out.

"An' Mr Malfoy?"

"Draco, merely had the double misfortune of being the first to arrive on the scene and of Nurse Harcourt being the second to arrive. Whereupon several unfounded and erroneous conclusions were jumped to."

"Very wail. I'll take yeh at yer word, Healer Vanes." She placed her wand back in her robe pocket.

It was at that moment, that Severus Snape made a most unusual decision. He decided to trust Rose Chang. "Healer Chang, would you be willing to examine me for further information, in regards to the Obliviation?"

"Yes. Bu' let's go t'my office."

"Draco, you will stay here. It is best you make yourself scarce until this is settled."

Draco just nodded and took the seat by Harry's cot. Severus warded the door to admit only relatives, should Madam Pomfrey be up to seeing Harry while he was gone. Then he followed Rose Chang onto the lift. As the lift ascended, Severus had time to reassess his decision. Clearly, his mind had been affected by Harry's accidental magic. He would first insist that Healer Chang take an oath of confidentiality, above that of her standing as a Healer, before allowing her to examine him.

~o~ ~o~ ~o~

**A/N:** One of the hazards of flying sans beta: a distinct inconsistency of Nurse names. I was deciding between Harcourt and Ackerly, and somehow managed to use both. OR, maybe both wizards coincidentally happened to grow up in a village where "boyo" was common slang... *meep*

Chapter 28 is mostly done. :) Comments appreciated!


	28. In which someone utters the words, I am

bA/N: /bApologies for lack of beta...

bcenterChapter 28: In which someone utters the words, "I am so dead."/center/b p

Draco didn't know how long he sat beside Harry, worrying the edge of the bed coverings between his fingers.p

"Oh, Harry," he whispered, wishing he could somehow spare Harry from any more distress. p

"Piddy boy..." Harry slurred softly, managing to blink a few times and open his eyes. p

Just then, the door handle clicked and without hesitation, Draco dropped to the floor and rolled under Harry's cot. He thought it might have been Snape who was entering, but if it wasn't, Draco was certain that he would be in ideep/i trouble. He felt it best to forgo dignity and be safe. p

Draco's sudden disappearance confused Harry, but the opening door distracted him. Harry watched, bleary-eyed, as a Healer entered. p

"iColoportus/i," she said, as she strode across the room to Harry. The door closed behind her and seemed to shimmer for a moment. p

As the Healer reached his bedside, Harry recognized her, even through his sleepy haze. "Y-Yiwee?" he whispered. p

Bellatrix LeStrange spun in a circle and cast, "iMufliato/i," all around. It felt good to be doing magic again, but it was a strain. The Dark magic she'd used to Confund the wards and enter St Mungo's had cost her dearly. (It surprised her that Potter's room had no additional wards. She supposed the side of the light couldn't imagine anyone wanting to hurt their ickle hero. They were very, very wrong.) Of course, it wasn't her own wand she used; the Ministry had broken her first when she had been sent to Azkaban, and her second wand had been destroyed when the vile creature before her had murdered her Master. The wand of the Healer she had incapacitated – probably a Mudblood – was inferior, adding to both her fatigue and her foul mood. p

"Well. Here you are, my ickle boy," she sneered. p

Harry furrowed his brow, vaguely remembering something. "Pitty …boy?" he whispered, looking around a bit. That small effort was enough to exhaust him, and his eyes slid closed as he sighed. p

"Oh, 'pretty' boy, is it?" Bellatrix scoffed. "My, my, aren't you just the arrogant ickle sod." p

Harry's eyes opened again as he queried, "Darvey?"p

"Get up, boy," snapped Bellatrix impatiently. "It's time to go." She tried to pull his covers down, but they held fast. She hoped there was a spell on the bedclothes, else she was weaker than she realized. p

"My doe home now, Yiwee?" Harry asked through a yawn. p

"Oh no you don't! Stay awake, Potter. And stand up – quickly!" Bellatrix pointed her wand at the bed and vanished all the coverings. Then she pulled Harry into a sitting position and shoved his legs over the side of the now bare cot. p

Harry didn't resist. He was still experiencing the effects of the sleeping charm and was only mildly aware of what was going on. p

"Up, iup/i!" Bellatrix said harshly, and – casting a Featherlight charm – hoisted him off the cot with his arm over her shoulder and her hand around his waist. "I said get up, boy. I don't want you dragging me down during Apparition." p

iI am so dead/i, thought Draco from under the cot. As his aunt made ready to Apparate, he rolled out from his hiding place and grabbed onto her ankle. One loud 'Crack' later and the room was empty. p

p

center~o~/center p

p

Crack! p

Bellatrix swayed a bit and dropped Harry to the floor. He landed with a soft grunt and lay still. Draco still clung to his aunt's ankle under hem of the Healers' robes she wore. p

"You idiot boy!" she shrieked. "I could have been splinched!" She viciously kicked at Draco, pulling her leg free from his grasp. Draco scrambled back, just dodging his aunt's foot. p

"I'm sorry, Aunt Bellatrix! You were leaving and I - I just panicked! You were my only hope of escaping those M-Muggle-loving traitors!" He gulped to catch his breath, hoping he'd been sufficiently convincing. p

He hadn't. p

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you on the spot, inephew/i." She aimed her stolen wand at his chest. p

Draco's mind raced, and before the thought had fully formed, he blurted out, "It was my mother's dying wish that I live!" It was a lie, though on second thought, probably it wasn't. And his pronouncement was met with complete silence. p

Bellatrix frowned at the young man before her. The nerve of him, staring up at her with her own dead sister's eyes, pleading for… What? Mercy? Well Bellatrix LeStrange had none to offer. She scrutinized him for another minute, before lowering her wand with an exasperated huff. "Proving once again that my dear sister was a fool," she muttered under her breath. p

Apparently Bellatrix Black did have a wee bit mercy, though Draco would soon find she'd used it all up on that one act. p

"Very well," she sighed dramatically, "I will let you live – for now – if you prove yourself useful and prove your loyalty to your dear aunt." p

"Yes, Auntie Bellatrix." Draco suppressed a shudder. He knew 'Thank you' would be going to far, and he was now embarking on the most difficult balancing act of his Slytherin career. He had known his Aunt Bellatrix to be unstable at the best of times. Here she was now, her Master dead, her sister dead – there was no telling what she might do and Draco knew he would have to tread very carefully, if he was to get himself and Harry out of there alive. p

"Make yourself useful, then, nephew. Bring my new toy –" she inclined her head to Harry's still form, " – to the dungeon. The Portraits can tell you the way." p

Rather than risk saying the wrong thing, Draco merely nodded, lifted Harry's limp form over his shoulder and left the parlour. p

Bellatrix banished the hideous lime green Healer's robe she'd commandeered. Her skin felt... tainted, and she could not wait one second more to rid herself of the stench of St Mungo's and all its simpering traitors. With that she spun on her heel and Apparated to her private bath. She planned to scrub herself raw and then soak in a bath of skin restorative solution. p

p

center~o~/center p

p

Draco knew he was being tested. And that meant his aunt was certain there was no leaving the manor without her say so. He had little hope that she was wrong. He decided getting Harry as far away from his aunt as possible was as good a first step as any. And, it would give him a chance to refresh his memory of the LeStrange manor floor plan. He hadn't a clue as to how he was going to get Harry out of there with no wand, so all he could do was hope some brilliant plan would occur to him soon. He was startled from his worries by the sound of Apparition. Suddenly, Harry felt a lot heavier and Draco faltered, nearly losing his hold on the other boy. His aunt must have cast a Featherlight charm on Harry, which disappeared when she did. p

iDon't wake up, Harry. Don't wake up/i, was the silent mantra running as an undercurrent through Draco's thoughts, most of which were struggling to deny the impossibility of escape. What had his aunt said exactly? Take Harry to the dungeon? Draco took a few steps to the left beyond the parlour entryway, and came upon the wizarding portraits lining the corridor. "Which way to the kitchens?" he asked a surly looking witch he knew to be Rudolfus and Rabastan LeStranges' great aunt, Persephone. p

"Who's that?" snapped the portrait. The figure in the frame leaned forward and held up a pair of gem encrusted pince-nez. She peered through them down at Draco and his burden and let out a sniff of derision. "Is this the spawn of a Black?" p

There was a low rumbling of discontent from a few of the nearby portraits. Clearly, Bellatrix had made a strong impression on the LeStrange ancestors. Draco thought perhaps he could use the portraits' dislike of his aunt to enlist their help in escaping. He only hoped his mother had made her own impressions during her visits to the manor. Where Bellatrix was crass and base-like, Narcissa was class and elegance. p

Draco adopted a deferential tone. "Yes Ma'am. Lady Bellatrix is my aunt, but my mother was Narcissa Black Malfoy." p

The portrait raised an elegant eyebrow. "Oh, really. Hmph. That one was tolerable, at least, though I found her husband a tad too proud. That would be your father then?" p

"I'm afraid so, although I'm told I take after my mother." p

The portrait sniffed again, squinting through her glasses. p

"If you please, Lady LeStrange, could you direct me to the kitchens?" Draco held his face in what he hoped looked like an expression of awe and respect. He did not try for innocence, for he was sure that would only raise suspicion. The portrait's next words had his heart sinking, and he realized he needn't have bothered asking. p

"Is it not... the dungeon you are looking for?" p

iDamn./i She had heard. Of course she had. Draco cursed himself for his stupidity; he should have realized. Harry grew heavier. Draco tried not to shift and risk waking him, while he awaited the portrait's directions. p

After a moment, the Persephone in the painting lowered her pince-nez, and looked down on Draco with a smirk. "The kitchens, you say? Very well. Go back the way you came, boy. Take the second left and at the end of the corridor, turn right. Then take one left, two rights and the third left." After that, she sat back in her chair turned her head away, dismissing Draco and leaving him with a new mantra: p

iSecond left, right, left, right, right, third left./i He repeated this over in his head as he made his way down the seemingly endless dark corridors of the LeStrange mansion. p

The LeStrange family was known for its unconventional use of wizard space. When Draco was a toddler, he had wandered off during a visit to his aunt's – or so his mother had said. He had no memory of the incident. As his mother told it, she herself got lost trying to find him, in what she disdainfully referred to as the "LeStrange Labyrinth of Perfected Pretension." He was aware of an ache of longing for his mother then, but he pushed it away, replacing it with a determination to get to the kitchens. p

At last, his nose told him he was nearing his destination, as he detected the aroma of baking bread. He felt little relief, though. It simply meant he had to come up with the next phase of his nonexistent plan of escape. The house elves took no notice of him, and Draco looked around to locate a possible exit. In Malfoy Manor's kitchens, there was a door leading to a herb garden. p

By this time, Draco's shoulder and back were straining under Harry's weight. He lay the boy down gently on an empty work table and rubbed his neck. After stretching a bit, Draco lifted Harry back up and and eased him over his other shoulder. Harry didn't so much as stir, and Draco wondered if Harry'd been given a sleeping potion on top of the charm. p

With his burden firmly in place, Draco walked purposefully towards the door. When he saw a house elf glare at him and disappear, he knew he had lost. There was a loud "Crack!" and Draco stood facing his aunt. She looked happy, and he knew that to be a very bad sign. p

"And iwhat/i exactly do you think you're doing , dear nephew?" She tilted her head thoughtfully and tapped her arm with her wand. She was wearing a deep green dressing gown, and her hair was dripping water over it and the floor. p

"You said to take him to the dungeon. I asked the portraits and this is were they directed me." Innocent, but not too innocent, with a touch of 'I have been unjustly put upon'. Balance. Draco's Slytherin instincts took over and he felt strangely calm. p

Bellatrix gave him a skeptical look, but then said, "Ah. I see now. The LeStrange ancestors were having a bit of fun with a Black." She scowled and continued, "Cursed portraits. No matter." She absently cast a drying charm on her hair. "You," she pointed to the nearest house elf, "relieve my nephew of his burden, and put it in the place I have specially prepared." p

The house elf snapped her fingers and both she and Harry disappeared. p

Draco stumbled back at the sudden loss of weight. He hadn't long to ponder what Bellatrix's "special" arrangements were, for as soon as he had righted himself, he heard a "iStupify/i," from his aunt, and then he heard and thought no more. p

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iDark! Again. And cold./i Harry woke shivering, his body trying to generate some heat. He reached down to pull his blankets back up, but he couldn't feel them. He stretched his feet out – or tried to at least, but something big was at the foot of his bed and Harry found he couldn't straighten his legs. And his bed... Why was it so hard? Harry squinted in the dark, but saw nothing. Usually, his caregiver left the nursery door open a crack to let a sliver of light in, but tonight it was sealed shut. Then Harry began to wonder, was it really this dark? Or were his eyes broken? He rubbed them with the palms of his hands and nothing changed, but memories drifted back to him then. He had been at the lion man's house and then St. Mungo's. He sat up, only to bump his head on the ceiling, which was suddenly too low. p

"Ow," he said, grabbing his head in one hand and reaching to the ceiling with the other. Then he started feeling all about him. He wasn't in his bed. It wasn't a hospital cot, either. It felt like there were ladders all around him. p

"Pomfee?" he whispered hesitantly. There was no sound in the room other than his own breathing. "Anybody dere?" he said a bit louder. But again there was no answer. Soon Harry was pushing and kicking at the bars confining him and calling out loudly for help. "Pomfee! Dobby! Help me, I stuck, I stuck!" He called and called and nobody came. Soon, Harry was sobbing his pleas and then just crying wordlessly. It took a long time for him to cry himself to sleep. p

In a room just above where Harry was, dining on an extravagant welcome home dinner she'd instructed the house elves to prepare for her, was a very satisfied Bellatrix Black LeStrange. She was savouring Harry's desperate cries, as much as – or perhaps even more than – her meal. She reclined on a luxurious, satin covered chaise lounge (which she referred to as her 'listening chaise') long after the dishes had been cleared. She'd had her fill of food, but not of Potter's misery, when the boy's cries had slowed and then stopped. Bellatrix pouted, brushing crumbs from her meal off her skirts. This silence was no fun. She stretched then, her thoughts drifting along of all she would do to the Blasted Boy Who yet Lived. p

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"iLumos Maximus! /i" p

Harry sat up suddenly, whacking his head again. But he was distracted from the pain of that, by the pain of the sudden bright light that seemed to surround him. He held his hands up in front of his eyes as a shield, little good it did. p

He slowly became accustomed to the light, and made out a figure before him. As the woman's features came into focus, Harry breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. "Yiwee! Oh, Yiwee, I stuck in here. You can get me out?" Now that he could see his surroundings, it was clear he was, in fact, not in any sort of bed, his or St. Mungo's. He was in a cage! Like the kind Hagrid had for his recovering magical creatures. p

"What's the matter, ickle Harry? Don't you like your accommodations?" p

Harry looked at her quizzically, as she continued. p

"And here I made this especially for you. How very ungrateful you are." p

"Yiwee?" Harry asked, "How I getted in here?" p

"Oh, yes, and that's another thing. 'Lily' is the name of your very dead mother. You may address me as 'Lady Lestrange'." p

Harry was so confused, he didn't understand her at all. "Yiwee? What –" p

Bellatrix sent a stinging hex at his lips. p

"Ow! Yiw–" He was again cut off with a hex, this one so forceful, it knocked him back against the cage bars. Harry looked at her in disbelief. He blinked back tears and rubbed his lips. They tingled painfully. p

Bellatrix looked upon him in utter disgust. "You really are a horrid little thing." She swished her wand and all but one of the wall torches went out. "If you know what's good for you, you'll stop calling me 'Lily'." In the suddenly dim light, she made her way to the door. p

"Wait! Don't go Yi- Yady – pease don't yeave me!" p

Bellatrix looked at him pointedly, put out the last torch and closed the door behind her, leaving Harry in total darkness again. p

Alone, with nothing but his thoughts for company, more memories flooded back to Harry. He remembered that he needed to stay away from Madam Pomfrey and his friends until he'd gotten all of his bad blood out. And how he was going to be able to do that from inside this cage, Harry did not know. p

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The next time there was light in the room, Harry saw a large tub like the one Hagrid used to bathe Fang and his other animals in. The 'strange Lady' who was not Lily was back, standing beside a little table and chair and smiling in a most unfriendly way. Harry shuddered from more than just the cold. He saw they were not alone in the room. There was a little house elf that Harry thought at first was Dobby. But though the creature had the same large ears and eyes as his friend, it did not smile at Harry the way Dobby did. It looked angry and mean to Harry. There was a loud 'pop', and two more house elves arrived with similarly sour expressions. One carried a plate of biscuits, and the other a tray with tea service, all of which were set upon the little table. p

"My new pet is filthy. Bathe him within an inch of his life, and I mean that." Bellatrix sat down and arranged herself at the table – pouring her tea and selecting a dark chocolate biscuit – to watch the proceedings. p

The door to Harry's cage swung open and he hesitated only a moment before crawling stiffly out. His limbs were rather uncooperative after a night of being cold and cramped in the cage. He faltered and fell, scraping his chin on the floor. No sooner than he had cleared the threshold, he found himself floating up and over the tub. One of the elves snapped his fingers and Harry dropped with a splash into the water. He let out a shriek when the icy cold hit him, but that only resulted in him swallowing a large mouthful of the water. His eyes stung with soap and his chin burned where he had scraped it on the stone floor. He spluttered and coughed and tried to pull himself out of the wooden tub. But when Harry got a purchase on the rim, one of the elves pried his fingers off sending Harry back under the water again. He came up retching, only to have each wrist grabbed by an elf, while a third took a coarse scrubbing brush and began scouring Harry's arms. He howled in pain. His wet pyjamas clung to his skin, but offered little protection from the hard bristles of the relentless brush. It ripped the cloth as it moved back and forth. Harry struggled to break free, but it was no use. The little house elves were deceptively strong and they held him fast. p

Harry could feel his teeth chattering but couldn't hear them over the rush of water in his ears. The elf with the scrub brush had finished his arms and torso, and Harry's wrists were released. He drew his arms to himself protectively. He was cold, stinging and thoroughly miserable, but at least it was over. Or so Harry had thought. Suddenly, the two elves who had held him, plunged their hands under the water and grabbed Harry by the ankles. As they pulled, Harry fell back, and his head went under. He thrashed helplessly, while his legs and feet got the same treatment with the brush. p

Desperate for air, Harry felt his ankles released and he was pulled out of the water by his hair. He retched again, struggling for breath, when the water disappeared from the tub and he was let go. He wrapped his arms around himself again, wincing. He hurt all over and he had never felt so cold in all his life. He looked down at his arms. His sleeves were in tatters and the skin beneath them was red and raw, and stinging from the soap. Suddenly, a shower of cold water fell upon Harry, rinsing him off. Harry shrieked again and his head was yanked back so the spray hit him full in the face. p

"That's enough," commanded Bellatrix. "Dry him off." p

A large scratchy towel appeared above Harry and fell over his head. Again, Harry was helpless to resist as he felt the elves rubbing him down brutally. And then the towel was gone and Harry was let go. He fell forward in the now empty tub, panting heavily. Then he felt himself floated up again and placed back in the cage, the door closing him in. p

"I wonder, ickle Harry, if you have even a clue as to why you are in there?" cooed Bellatrix. p

Harry just looked at her dumbly. p

"Well? Do you, boy?" Her voice took on a hard edge. p

At this, Harry shook his head. "P-p-p-p-pease, m-my go ho-ome n-n-now?" he said through chattering teeth. p

"Home? Home! You have no more home, other than this cage. You are a foolish, ignorant boy, and you are lucky I haven't killed you, you ungrateful little horror." p

Then, to Harry's surprise, the woman's body began to change shape and shrink. Her hair got shorter and fur sprung out of all her limbs. When she was done transforming, Harry whispered in disbelief, "D-Darvy?" p

The creature approached his cage. Harry reached out between the bars for his dear pet. "Darvy, y-y-you help m-me?" p

The creature suddenly turned its head and snapped at Harry's fingers, drawing blood. Harry pulled his injured hand back in the cage and cradled it. p

"Gullible little twerp," said Bellatrix, in her Animagus form. "And there's no such thing as 'bad blood' or 'secret magic,' either!" The jarvey snorted and began to grow, changing back into human form. "Now do you see?" Bellatrix approached the cage. "I had to endure endless weeks locked in my cage by you and that oaf, Hagrid. And, if you will recall, it was iyou/i, ickle Harry, who did not want to let me go. So no, you cannot 'go home now'. You will never go home again, you wretched little thing." p

Tears streamed down Harry's cheeks. He didn't understand, and before he could even think of what to say, the woman made her final pronouncement. p

"You murdered my Master, imprisoned me, and now, Harry Potter, you. Will. Pay. p

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